


ruffled feathers

by amortentia (ofpoetsandsaints), ofpoetsandsaints



Series: birds of a feather [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ...As Usual, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epistolary, M/M, Professor Regulus Black, Regulus Black Lives, Updates Mondays, wherein regulus represses his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofpoetsandsaints/pseuds/amortentia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofpoetsandsaints/pseuds/ofpoetsandsaints
Summary: After everything that happened last year, Regulus was sure that this year couldn't possibly be worse. But between Moody, Igor, and the Goblet of Fire -- well, things aren't looking so good.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Regulus Black & Charlie Weasley, Regulus Black & Death Eaters, Regulus Black & Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Regulus Black & Hogwarts Staff, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black/Charlie Weasley
Series: birds of a feather [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800187
Comments: 130
Kudos: 507





	1. Chapter 1

Sirius’s letters had arrived tied to birds that Regulus couldn’t name. Non-magical birds, or at least as non-magical as owls were. He’d looked them up after they left -- macaws, toucans -- found out their habitats, tried desperately to trace Sirius’s path across the world. The envelopes were unmarked, but it had been clear who they were from, and a peek inside revealed handwriting so painfully familiar that the first time he’d seen it Regulus had needed to put it aside. He’d received three letters over the summer, drafted responses to each, and promptly stored Sirius’s letters and burned his own. The latest one he’d even sealed in an envelope and tied to the bird’s leg before he changed his mind. Everything he tried to say seemed insufficient. How could he possibly make up for years of history in one letter -- decades, from Siri’s perspective?

His latest letter had arrived the day Regulus had been planning to go to Hogwarts, four days before the beginning of term. Usually, he would’ve gone earlier, but with things as they were, he’d stayed back, trying to find out more information. He’d found not even the slightest hint as to the identity of the person who’d cast  _ Morsmordre _ at the Quidditch World Cup. Oh, there were plenty of suspects -- most of the Death Eaters who’d dodged Azkaban were the type of people to be at the Cup -- but there was no reason to think that any one of them had done it over the others. For that matter, the motivation was still unclear; why now, after over a decade of silence? Regulus hadn’t realized how much information having a network had provided. Even rumors and whispers, barely there, could be pieced together into something bigger. It didn’t matter that Regulus  _ could  _ leave the house -- no one knew him enough to make anything worth hearing. It was time to give up trying to figure out the  _ Morsmordre _ and go back to Hogwarts. With any luck, it was an isolated incident.

Regulus really hoped it was an isolated incident. 

His return to Hogwarts was fluid, as though he had never left. Hagrid greeted him enthusiastically, and dealing with the creatures was a much-needed distraction. The other teachers were polite, asking after his summer; Pomona in particular would strike up conversations with him whenever possible, and he’d even managed to catch Aurora on her tower one night. Severus, notably, would barely look at him -- Regulus suspected Dumbledore had said something to him, but he couldn’t be sure. Dumbledore had been frustratingly elusive in his communication with Regulus over the summer, which, while typical, was annoying. Regulus tried not to let it bother him. Whatever he’d done, this year was looking to be far more peaceful than last year. No Remus pestering him, no Severus stalking him, and no Sirius breaking into the school. Just tea with Hagrid, caring for creatures -- and class, of course. 

Merlin, he was almost looking forward to that, too. He’d lost some good students in the transition from OWL- to NEWT-level classes, but they’d also mostly been pruned of the students he disliked in that year. Regulus’s main worry when it came to his classes was, as always, the Gryffindor-Slytherin class that contained Potter. After what had happened last year, he was certain that Potter and his friends were going to interrogate him about his identity -- assuming Sirius hadn’t told them already, a possibility that worried him even more; what would Sirius have said about him? That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that that class also contained Cissa’s son, who had remained a constant annoyance last year, and whose presence brought a whole host of feelings that Regulus absolutely did not want to address. The thought of having to deal with him and Potter’s bickering wasn’t nearly enough to make him regret coming back, but it did give him an appreciation for the relatively peaceful days leading up to the students’ arrival. All too soon, September 1st arrived, and Regulus found himself helping Hagrid harness the thestrals to the front of the carriages. He tried to look appropriately sad when Hagrid mentioned that the herd had lost a member -- probably due to old age, Hagrid assured him, or possibly predators -- and excused himself, making his way to the Great Hall for the welcoming feast. 

Aurora found a place next to him immediately. “Evening, Antares,” she said. “Who do you think is going to win the Sorting?”

“...win?” he asked, after a pause.

“You know, get the most students. My bet’s on Hufflepuff, personally.”

“What’s the point of guessing if you have no evidence to back it up?” he asked. 

“What’s the point of guessing if you do?” she countered, bizarrely. “No stakes, just fun.”

There were… a myriad of answers that he had to that question, but he wasn’t sure it was a point worth arguing. “Ravenclaw,” he eventually conceded.

“Good choice,” she said, grinning. “The kids are going to lose their shit when Dumbledore announces the Tournament.”

Regulus hummed in agreement. The Triwizard Tournament. He wasn’t sure why Dumbledore decided to host it this year; in Regulus’s opinion, he had bigger things to be focusing on. Still, he couldn’t help being intrigued by the concept of witnessing a tradition that hadn’t been performed in centuries. “Do you swear this much around students?” he asked offhandedly.

“Of course not! I can be professional,” she insisted. She pursed her lips, surveying the room. Most of the teachers had taken their place, and the students were beginning to file in. “The new Defense professor isn’t here,” she commented. 

Indeed, there was a glaring empty space at Dumbledore’s right. “Do you know who they are?” he asked.

She shrugged. “An Auror, I think. I tend to ignore the Defense professors. They don’t stick around.”

An Auror? That was… interesting, and potentially worrying. “Do the other teachers share your opinion?” 

“A bit. I tend to be more distant than them, generally, but I think they try not to get attached. They accept new teachers more quickly if they’re not Defense,” she explained. “Like you and the werewolf,” she added. 

Regulus considered this, but before he could respond, he heard the room hush, and the Sorting Hat began to sing. It was less ominous than usual; the Sorting Hat typically had a flair for the dramatic, but this year it was straightforward. Aurora glanced at him every time a student was sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, and in the end, she was right -- Hufflepuff outstripped Ravenclaw and Gryffindor by a mere two students, and Slytherin gained the fewest. The feast, as usual, was overwhelmingly good, and though Regulus spent it in high spirits, he couldn’t help his gaze from wandering to the empty chair beside Dumbledore. Aurora, too, would glance at it curiously, but she didn’t mention the Defense professor again. 

When the food vanished, Dumbledore rose, beginning his customary speech about rules and regulations. “It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year,” he added, and Regulus watched the faces of the students fall. Aurora was right; their reaction when they found out what was replacing it would be very interesting. Dumbledore continued his speech, and --

The door burst open, and the hall froze, silent. A man stood there, leaning against a tall staff, his face hidden. He lowered his hood and began to walk toward the teachers’ table lopsidedly, one of his legs -- was it a leg? -- thumping loudly against the ground as he walked. He lifted his head, and Regulus got a glimpse of his face -- scarred, missing chunks, and his  _ eyes _ \-- one dark, one blue, darting in directions independent of the first. It was not a face that Regulus had seen before, but he’d heard about it --  _ Merlin _ , he’d heard. Except it couldn’t be him, because the man with that face was retired, and the man with that face wouldn’t take on a teaching position at Hogwarts, and, most importantly, the man with that face had murdered one of Regulus’s best friends. 

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? Professor Moody,” Dumbledore said.

Professor Moody. Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, famed Auror, responsible for the arrests and deaths of countless Death Eaters. Responsible for  _ Evan’s _ death.

“Antares, are you okay?” he heard Aurora murmur, and he jumped. Dumbledore had started speaking again. He glanced down at his hands, one of which was gripping his knife tightly, and forced himself to relax. 

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “Just -- tired.” Aurora looked skeptical, but didn’t push it. Regulus forced himself to look at Dumbledore, unable to hear a word he said. Moody, here.  _ Here _ . As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, Regulus rose, barely registering Aurora’s confused goodnight as he left the hall.

“Kreacher,” he called as he entered his room, sitting heavily on the bed. Kreacher appeared with a crack.

“Yes, Master Regulus?”

“Go home, get me that book on Death Eaters. Please,” he added, a moment too late. Kreacher obeyed, disappearing and reappearing in an instant. Regulus took the book, dismissing Kreacher, and opened it to the table of contents. His finger brushed the page, sliding down until he saw the name Evan Rosier. He flipped to the chapter, pausing at the photo in the front. Unlike most of the other photos in the book, it wasn’t a mugshot; instead, it was a photo taken just after he’d graduated. He was grinning, laughing, waving at the camera. Regulus skipped through most of the chapter until he reached the part on Evan’s death, which featured a great many quotes from Moody.

By the time he finished reading it the first time, he felt nauseous. He paused, closing his eyes, hands pressed against the open book. Evan was a bad person, he remained himself. Even when Regulus had been a Death Eater, he’d started becoming uncomfortable with the way that Evan had been becoming. Moody was an auror; he was just doing his job.

It didn’t help. He flipped back to the beginning of the section and read it again -- and again, and again, until he was so tired that the words blurred together on the page. Only then did he put the book aside and fall into a restless, haunted sleep.

Granger cornered him after class the next day, Potter and Weasley trailing behind her.

“We have questions,” she said.

“Are they about commonly domesticated magical creatures?” he asked, eyeing the trio warily. 

“No, they’re about you,” Ron replied. Regulus bit back a sigh. He’d hoped that their interrogation could wait until such a time when he was less tired, or, ideally, never.

“In that case,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time.”

“We know who you are, Regulus,” Potter said. Regulus’s eyes jumped automatically to the door, but there was no one around. He paused, considering. He didn’t want to talk to them about this, but they weren’t exactly the type to give up easily. They’d probably just keep pestering him until he gave in. 

“Mr. Weasley, shut the door,” he said. “Siri told you, then?” he asked, trying to sound unbothered. Sirius could have plenty to say about him, and given how they’d been before Regulus went to the cave, he doubted it would be very pleasant.

“No, we learned from the map,” Granger said matter-of-factly. “What? He already knows about it,” she snapped, as the boys shot her looks of betrayal.

“I asked Sirius about you, but he didn’t tell me much. Just that you’re his brother, and that you two haven’t always gotten along.” Potter explained. So simple. Regulus wondered why Sirius had spared the details.

He looked between the three of them, who were staring at him expectantly. “What do you want to know?” he asked, and Granger said, “Everything.”

Everything… where was he supposed to start? The Dark Lord? Their parents? Slytherin, and Gryffindor, and Siri’s flight?

“Our family…” he began. “Our family was very… traditional. Sirius was rebellious, I wasn’t. We ended up on opposite sides of the war. I turned against the Dark Lord, but the two of us never got the chance to… reconcile. I work under Dumbledore now,” he added. “And my existence is a complete secret, so please don’t go around telling people about it.”

“Were you a Death Eater?” Granger asked immediately. 

“I was,” he admitted. 

“Have you killed anyone?” asked Ron.

“No,” Regulus said quickly. No, he hadn’t killed anyone. He’d just watched.

Ron looked at him for a moment, as if considering something. “That’s alright, then. Are you still a blood purist?” he asked.

“No.” Not most of the time, anyway; he was trying.

“Why did you leave?” Granger piped up. 

Regulus winced. “There were… many reasons, most of which are not your concern.”

“Did you know my parents?” Potter asked, speaking up for the first time. Regulus paused, and he quickly continued. “I mean, if you went to school at the same time as Sirius…”

“I… yes, I knew them,” Regulus said. How was he supposed to talk about James and Evans? James he’d hated -- still hated. And Evans… their interactions had been cordial, at least, but she’d been a mud -- a Muggleborn, ridiculously talented, who James had been pining over. He hadn’t had the kindest feelings toward her, either. 

“Did you… did you know them well? What were they like?” Potter asked, his eyes hungry.

“I didn’t speak with them much,” he said. “And as Sirius and I were estranged, I had very little reason to interact with James. Miss Evans -- your mother and I were both in the Slug Club. She was very talented,” he said, skirting around the edges of the truth. 

“Slug Club?” Potter and Ron asked, together.

“One of our teachers, Professor Slughorn, had a penchant for… recruiting particularly exceptional students,” Regulus explained. “I think he noticed her for her aptitude in potion making, the subject he taught.”

“I suppose you didn’t like Harry’s parents very much,” said Ron. “Being a blood purist and all.”

“No. No, I wasn’t… particularly fond of them.” There was an awkward, stretched silence. Regulus had half a mind to start talking about what James had really been like, but refrained. As much as he hated James, the boy didn’t deserve to have his image of him ruined so thoroughly.

“Do you know anything about what happened at the Quidditch World Cup?” Granger asked. 

“No more than you do,” Regulus replied, mentally thanking her for the shift in conversation. “Less, probably. I don’t have the connections that I did when I was… myself.”

“Then what do you do?” Ron asked bluntly. “You said you work for Dumbledore.”

Not much at all, it seemed. They were no closer to finding any other horcruxes; they didn’t even know how many there  _ were _ . “I am the Care of Magical Creatures professor,” he said coolly. “Any additional information is not relevant to you.”

Granger frowned. The other two looked equally dissatisfied, but none of the students pressed the issue. 

“If that’s all,” he said, rising, “I think you ought to go to lunch.”

“What was Sirius like?” Potter asked, catching him off guard. “When he was a kid.”

“He was…” Regulus paused, searching for the right words. “Strong-willed, and fiercely loyal. To me, in our youth, and then to his friends. And he was very conspicuous. You noticed him, when he was in the room.” He was also stubborn, and infuriating, and hotheaded. Gentle, sometimes, but rarely. Contradictory. 

Potter smiled at him. “Thanks,” he muttered as they left the room. 

Regulus sat alone in the classroom and penned another letter that he’d never send. 

Regulus surveyed his class, watching as they played with the crups he’d provided for them. Crups, he’d found, were an easy way of introducing students to domesticated magical animals; they were nearly identical to Muggle dogs, except in their forked tails and anti-Muggle temperament. Everyone seemed relatively happy -- even Draco was participating, crouching on the ground and rubbing the belly of one of them. The only exception was Granger, who was looking mildly perturbed. He supposed he couldn’t blame her; his original lesson plan had had this class as relatively theoretical, lecturing on the history and techniques of taming crups, and this last-minute change had essentially no content. But, well… he’d heard some things. 

The first of those things had come from the mouth of a raging, furious McGonagall: Mad-Eye Moody had decided that the best way to punish a student -- Draco -- was to  _ turn him into a ferret  _ and toss him around. Regulus had had to excuse himself after hearing that, and had spent several minutes huddled over the toilet, trying not to throw up. Moody, it seemed, was more violent and insane than he’d even thought he was. Now that the initial shock of seeing him had worn off -- though he still saw Evan every time he looked at that godforsaken face -- it was beginning to dawn on Regulus that if Moody, hyper-vigilant and hyper-paranoid, found out who he was… well, being a ferret would be the least of his problems. 

Draco glanced at him, and Regulus quickly looked away. He strode casually among the students, stopping occasionally to comment, before meandering over to Draco.

“Well done,” he commented. “She really seems to trust you.”

Draco looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “Yeah,” he said, suspiciously. 

“Do you have experience with crups?” Regulus asked, sounding painfully awkward even to his own ears. It wasn’t as though he could just ask if he was okay; Draco would only take offense. With a start, he realized that the only times he usually spoke to Draco were to punish him.

“I had a cruppy as a child, but we gave her away,” he said. “They like me because they’re bred to be loyal to wizards, and my family have been powerful wizards from generations."

“Crups don’t sense blood,” Regulus explained, as patiently as possible. “They only sense an individual’s power.”

Draco sniffed disdainfully, but didn’t comment. As Regulus walked away, he saw Draco smirking and rolling his eyes at Crabbe and Goyle. Regulus felt anger rising in him, but he ignored it, choosing instead to make his way toward Longbottom.

The second rumor he’d heard from his previous fourth-year class, and the combination of the two had made him throw away his lesson plans and take his classes out instead. It was in some ways exponentially more horrible than the first. He’d heard, offhandedly, the words  _ Cruciatus Curse _ . Upon prodding, he’d gotten the whole story out of the Hufflepuffs of Moody’s first lesson -- how the Imperius Curse had been funny, and then terrifying; how the Cruciatus Curse had been painful to even watch; Longbottom’s terror; the Killing Curse. Knowing what Bella had done… 

The boy looked alright now, he thought, though a little distant. Not speaking, he pet the crup playing in his lap distractedly, often staring off at the horizon.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Longbottom,” Regulus said, approaching him. 

Longbottom grinned up at him. “Afternoon, Professor. I always wanted a crup, but my Gran didn’t think I was responsible enough to have one.”

Regulus crouched down next to him, his robe brushing the dirt, and stroked the crup’s head. It wagged its tail, both forked ends slapping into Logbottom’s side.

“They’re very useful creatures,” Regulus explained. “Excellent guard dogs, but only if you want to keep Muggles out. They are also exceptional scavengers,” he added, “although I know your proclivity is toward growing plants, not finding them.”

“Yeah,” Longbottom agreed. “Knowing me, she’s right, anyway. I’d probably forget to feed them,” he said, ducking his head.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve already proven you have an aptness for taking care of living things. Besides, your toad hasn’t died yet,” he noted, “and a crup is much harder to lose.”

Longbottom laughed. “Maybe I’ll get one when I graduate.” He smiled down at the crup in his lap, scratching her on the chest, and she thumped her leg rapidly against the ground. “They’re good company.”

“Has Pomona been teaching you anything interesting?” Regulus asked, and Longbottom lit up, immediately launching into an explanation about bubotubers -- they had a fascinating growth cycle, apparently. He had just moved on to the pus extraction method, something Regulus remembered all too well, when a yelping distracted them. Immediately, Regulus rushed over. 

“What is this, Miss Parkinson?”

“He  _ bit _ me!” she exclaimed, holding her hand. Regulus reached out, examining it. Bite marks, just a bit of blood.

“It’s a superficial wound. You may go to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey will be able to heal it immediately,” he said, dismissing her. He walked over to Zabini, who was comforting the crup involved. “What happened?”

“She didn’t hurt it,” he replied. “Just pushed it away rather harshly when it bit her. It did warn her,” he added. “Growled. She kept touching it, though.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zabini,” he said, sighing and calling the students around him. By the time he had finished lecturing them on respecting animals’ boundaries and heeding warning signs, class time was up.

Potter approached him immediately. “This is for you,” he said, handing Regulus a small piece of paper. Regulus unfolded it, acutely aware of their eyes on him. Inside, in Sirius’s familiar handwriting, were written two words, underlined three times:  _ Write me _ . He tucked the paper into his robes.

“Was there something else you needed?”

“Yes, actually,” declared Granger.

“Oh, boy,” Ron muttered under his breath. “Teachers now?” She shot him a glare. 

“Would you like to join the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?” she asked, holding out a box. He glanced down; it was filled with badges, each of them reading S.P.E.W.

“The…” he began, trailing off.

“The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” she repeated. “The enslavement of elves goes back centuries. Our organization aims to campaign for fair wages and working conditions for house-elves.”

Regulus stared at her in disbelief. “Miss Granger…” he said. “I don’t know if you’re acquainted with many house-elves, but they do not wish for their freedom.”

“Of course they do,” she said stubbornly. “Dobby did, he’s overjoyed to be free.”

He glanced over at Ron and Potter. Exasperated though they seemed, they didn’t contradict her. A house-elf wanting freedom? Was that possible?

“...I suppose I can join,” he eventually conceded. “So long as you are truly taking the desires of the house-elves into account.”

Granger beamed. “Great! It’s two Sickles to join.” 

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have any money on me,” he said.

“Oh, well, I suppose you can join next class then,” Granger said. “Goodbye, Professor Crow!” she said happily, leaving.

Regulus frowned after her. He’d thought it was an immutable fact of the universe that house-elves didn’t want freedom, but if this Dobby truly had -- 

The possibility haunted him for the rest of the day, and he called for Kreacher the moment he returned to his room that night. 

“Yes, Master Regulus?” he asked, bowing.

“I was… don’t, um, don’t take offense to this,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d like to be free.”

Kreacher’s head shot up, his eyes welling with tears. “Master Regulus would like to free me… I am sorry, Master Regulus! What have I done wrong?” he wailed.

“No no, you haven’t done anything wrong!” Regulus said quickly, reaching out to comfort him. “I have just heard about house-elves who want freedom, and if you were one of them, I would want to give it to you,” he explained.

"That is very kind, Master, but Kreacher would never want such a thing. You have heard about Dobby,” he said lowly.

“I have, but not much. Can you tell me about him?”

A bitter look crossed over Kreacher’s face. “Unnatural… he was the servant of a noble house, yes, Mistress Cissy’s house. But he conspired against them… went behind their backs… tricked them into giving them his freedom. Now he seeks to foist freedom upon all elves,” Kreacher spat. 

Regulus patted Kreacher on the shoulder consolingly. “I’m sorry for asking, Kreacher. I don’t know what I’d do without you, anyway,” he said. Kreacher brightened up immediately. Regulus wandered over to his desk absent-mindedly, pulling Sirius’s note from out of his robes. “Do you think I should write to Sirius?” he asked. 

“Write to the blood traitor, no, he broke poor Mistress’s heart, abandoned the family,” Kreacher said vehemently. 

Regulus paused over his desk, considering. He probably should write, yes… but there was another conversation he needed to have more urgently. 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” he said. “You may go now.”

Dumbledore, it seemed, had not been expecting him. The man was in a flowery, almost garish bathrobe and fluffy slippers. Regulus almost regretted coming; it was far too unguarded for him to be comfortable.

“Ah, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said, as he descended from the stairs at the back of his office. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Why would you hire him?” Regulus demanded. 

Dumbledore sighed. “It has been some time since I’ve gone a year without my own staff criticizing my hiring decisions. I would have hoped that this year would be different, but alas. Professor Moody is unhappy with my hiring of Professor Snape, and now, it seems, you are unhappy with my hiring of him. I would urge you not to let your personal dislike get in the way of the safety of the students.”

“It’s not personal dislike!” Regulus protested. “Draco --”

“Minerva has informed me of the ferret incident, and I have spoken with him,” Dumbledore said, cutting him off. 

“He demonstrated  _ Unforgivables _ to fourth-years on the first day of class! The man is insane,” Regulus hissed.

Dumbledore looked up sharply. “I… had not been made aware of that,” he admitted. “Alastor, while brilliant, is not… accustomed to being in an academic setting. That being said, he is doing me a great favor in teaching here this year. The Death Eaters have been… stirring. The Dark Mark over the Quidditch World Cup was only the most obvious in a string of unsettling rumors. I need him here to protect Harry in case anything goes wrong.”

“You can’t do that yourself?” Regulus snapped. “It’s not Potter I’m worried about. It’s the other students.”

“And yourself, I presume?”

“I -- yes,” Regulus admitted. “If he finds out who I am, he  _ will _ kill me.”

“Alastor trusts me. He will not like it, but if I tell him to spare you, he will.”

“Maybe, but there’s no way he won’t tell the Ministry,” Regulus argued. “If the Dark Lord knows I’m alive, he’ll go back to the cave. He’ll know we’re looking for his horcruxes.”

“Believe me, Regulus, I know the danger that revealing your existence would put us in,” Dumbledore said gently. “Alastor will not learn your identity.”

Regulus stared at him defiantly, but the headmaster didn’t break his gaze. “Fine,” Regulus eventually conceded. “Why haven’t we done any more about the horcruxes?”

“I have been pursuing my own leads,” Dumbledore said, gracefully accepting the shift in conversation. “I was going to give this to you later, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He floated a thick stack of papers toward Regulus, who caught them in his arms. “This is the report from when the Ministry searched your cousin’s home after she was put in Azkaban. Read it, and write down any additional information you know about the manor. We will conduct our own search over winter break -- I’m afraid the Tournament has me a bit tied up until then.”

Regulus nodded distractedly, flipping through the papers. Merlin, there were hundreds -- he’d known Uncle Cygnus’s estate was cursed, but this was… a lot.

“May I ask -- is your discomfort with Alastor out of principle, or is it of a more personal nature?” Regulus stared at him, not entirely sure what the answer was. “I seem to recall you being rather close friends with Ro--”

“No,” Regulus said flatly, but from Dumbledore’s pitying gaze, he knew exactly how Regulus was feeling. “Good night,” he added, turning on his heel and practically running out of the room. Dumping the report on his desk, Regulus quickly got ready for bed, his hands shaking. How  _ dare _ Dumbledore even mention --

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, downing a cup of Sleeping Draught, and collapsed into his bed, his first week over. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the other schools arrive, feat. yet another Death Eater.

Regulus shifted, plucking a piece of lint from his gloves as he waited. Around him, teachers shuffled into place, forming a somewhat organized mass, but Regulus stayed still, too distracted to pay attention to what was going on.

October had come in the blink of an eye, and had nearly passed; all too soon the whole school had been talking about the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students. Regulus, too, had let the anticipation of their arrival fill his thoughts, leveraging their intrigue against the thought of Evan, of Moody, of Sirius. For a while, the outside world had ceased to exist -- there was class, and there was the Tournament, and only very occasionally was ther Mad-Eye Moody. Of course, that had changed this morning.

_ He’s back _ , Potter had said.  _ Sirius is back in the country _ . 

He’d left without another word, before Regulus had the chance to ask  _ why _ and  _ where _ and  _ is he safe _ .

“You’d think they could just walk in,” Aurora said from beside him, and he jumped. He hadn’t noticed her approach. “The welcoming committee seems a bit unnecessary.”

Regulus forced himself to relax. “It’s traditional. Besides, it’s polite -- a display of hospitality.”

“We’re already feeding and housing them, how much more hospitable can you get?” she asked. “All this seems to be doing is making everyone stressed.” Regulus hummed noncommittally, but the sentiment set him on edge for reasons he couldn’t place. Hospitality… hospitality was everything; well, as “everything” as blood or power or networking. He remembered the way his mother would fret, making sure each napkin was exactly in place, each painting perfectly straight. 

“I had a penpal at Beauxbatons once,” Aurora said.

“How did that work out?”

“It was rubbish, I couldn’t speak French --  _ Merlin’s holy balls _ ,” she muttered, as Snape reprimanded a straying first-year to the point of tears. “Can everyone  _ please _ just calm down?”

Regulus reached out, patting her on the arm. “They’ll be here soon.”

“They’d better,” she muttered.

As if on cue, he heard Dumbledore announcing the arrival of the Beauxbatons. The students started talking immediately, trying to spot the approaching delegation; it was only when one of them pointed into the sky, shouting, that Regulus saw them. 

“Abraxans,” he breathed, as the Beauxbatons’ carriage landed. “I’ve always wanted to see some of them.”

Unlike their cousins, the thestrals, abraxans lacked a skeletal appearance, instead resembling perfectly normal horses -- if perfectly normal horses were elephant-sized and had enormous, feathery wings protruding from their backs. 

Aurora whistled under her breath. “Now  _ that _ is a woman,” she said. Regulus tore his eyes away from the horses to watch the -- Headmistress, perhaps, of Beauxbatons stepping out of the carriage.

She was, without a doubt, the largest woman Regulus had ever seen, although incredibly well-proportioned. She was impeccably dressed, in such opulence that Regulus was sure his mother would’ve keeled over in jealousy had she ever laid eyes on the woman; he could see jewels on her hands and her throat, and yards and yards of black satin made her look as vast and glittering as the night sky. She glided toward Dumbledore, more than twice the height of all but the tallest students, and her previously stoic face melted into a smile as she reached him.

“My dear Madam Maxine. Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” she said fondly, her voice rich and deep. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you.”

“My pupils,” she announced. Regulus’s eyes drifted toward them, shivering in their silk robes, then back toward the abraxans. Their manes were gorgeous, soft and golden. Sirius would like them; he’d always enjoyed riding horses, the few times they had --

“‘As Karakaroff arrived yet?” Maxine asked, and it was a moment before Regulus’s mind caught up with what he’d heard. He snapped his head around, staring at Dumbledore, who was still smiling pleasantly. 

“He should be here any moment,” Dumbledore said, as though inviting Death Eaters into his castle was a regular occurrence. Which, come to think of it, it kind of was. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think. But ze ‘horses --” 

“I’m sure our Groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor would be delighted to take care of them,” Dumbledore replied smoothly, gesturing Hagrid and Regulus over. Hagrid, he noticed, looked uncharacteristically nervous, stroking his hands through his beard. “This is Rubeus Hagrid and Antares Crow.”

“’S a pleasure teh meet yeh, Mrs. Maxine,” said Hagrid, giving an awkward half-bow.

“Ravi de faire votre connaissance, Mme. Maxine,” Regulus said.

Maxine’s face lit up. “Ah! Parlez-vous français?”

“...Un peu. Je ne parle pas français bien,” he admitted. Both he and Sirius had been tutored in French prior to coming to Hogwarts; unlike Sirius, he’d put enough effort into it to become fairly fluent. Eight years of disuse, however, had withered his French skills from decent to merely passable. Only in the past month had he started brushing up again, to prepare for the Beauxbatons delegation’s arrival.

Madam Maxine looked pleased nonetheless. “Ze ‘ourses are very particular,” she informed them. “Zey drink only single-malt whiskey.” 

It was only years of self-control that allowed Regulus to keep a straight face. Abrxans were picky, but… this was an entirely different level.

“It will be taken care of,” he informed her, making a mental note to deal with that as soon as possible.

“Merci. Come,” she said to her students, gliding toward the castle, the students scuttling behind her. Hagrid went immediately toward the abraxans, Regulus at his heels.

“I can do the actual handlin’, if yeh don’ mind,” Hagrid said. Regulus looked up at the abraxans, towering above him. One of them snorted, seeming to glare at Regulus.

“I think that would be best,” he agreed. “What do you think -- the clearing to the west of the thestrals? The thestrals won’t mind the company, and there shouldn’t be any other dangerous creatures in that area. The centaurs might not approve, even though that’s not part of their territory… perhaps we should set up an enclosure near your home instead.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid distractedly. “Blimey… tha’s one woman. Yeh think yeh could teach me any French?” he asked hopefully. 

Regulus looked at him in disbelief. Was he smitten with her? Already? He’d barely met her. She was, Regulus supposed, beautiful, all sharp angles and poise. And Hagrid would want someone like him, maybe, someone nearly twelve feet tall. 

Still -- it had been five minutes.

“I can set up the wards and fencing,” Regulus said, ignoring Hagrid’s apparent infatuation. “Do you think the house-elves have access to whiskey? It’s not served, so I doubt they’d have any on hand…” he trailed off as it became apparent that Hagrid was barely listening to him, just staring off rather distantly as he guided the abraxans away.

“Sounds good…” he murmured. “Do yeh reckon she --”

Whatever Hagrid was about to say was cut off as Regulus became aware of a loud sucking noise. He looked immediately toward the lake; rising from it was an eerie, ancient ship. It landed, lowering a plank onto the ground, and Igor Karkaroff stepped down, the Durmstrang students filing behind him.

Regulus felt a phantom itch in his left arm, and resisted the urge to scratch at it. Instead, he forcibly turned toward the horses, not watching Igor’s ascent toward Hogwarts.

They hadn’t ever talked much, but they’d known about each other; neither of them trusted enough to be in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, they’d orbited around Death Eaters who were more powerful and influential. Igor had tailed after Evan, for a time, and that had held most of the interactions between him and Regulus. Regulus had thought the man was both pathetic and terrifying. He wasn’t sure which one he leaned toward now.

He helped Hagrid lead the horses away, students chittering excitedly behind them, and felt acutely grateful for the excuse to miss the beginning of the feast. He almost hoped that the house-elves wouldn’t be able to get the whiskey, so that he would have to chase some down elsewhere; setting up a paddock for the abraxans only took a few waves of his wand, although the wards took a little longer.

He made his way down to the kitchens, where the house-elves were chatting animatedly. Merlin, it had been so long -- he used to come down here all the time, as a student, but now...

It was good to be back.

The house-elves turned as he entered, clearly confused. He could see Kreacher practically vibrating with excitement, but, thankfully, he didn’t acknowledge Regulus.

“Hello,” he said. “Pardon me for interrupting. I was wondering if you have access to any single-malt whiskey. Madam Maxine requires it for her abraxans,” he explained. 

“We can’t stock alcohol, Mr. Crow,” one of the house-elves said. He hadn’t realized that they’d known who he was.

“Dobby can procure some for you, sir!” he heard, and turned to see the most bizarrely outfitted house-elf he’d ever seen. He was, like the others, without a shirt, but instead of the toga-like fabrics the others wore, his chest was covered only by a tie, which was impossibly large on him. On his lower half was… something, either Muggle clothing, or perhaps just underwear -- Regulus sometimes had difficulty telling them apart. He used a tea cozy as a makeshift hat, and wore garish, bright mismatched socks. So  _ this _ was the Dobby that Granger had mentioned. 

“Um -- thank you, Dobby,” he said, somewhat startled. The other house-elves, he noticed, looked distinctly unhappy with this turn of events. As he looked around more, he spotted another clothed house-elf, this one in a skirt and blouse.  _ Bizarre _ . “If you could, um, just deliver it to Hagrid’s hut, that would be wonderful.”

Dobby beamed. “It will be done, sir!” he said, vanishing with a crack.

One of the other house-elves approached. “Would you like some food, Mr. Crow?” she asked.

Regulus… was tempted. So, so tempted. If he said yes, he could escape back to his room, not have to face Igor or Moody or Hagrid’s… whatever it was. On the other hand, he was expected to be there. 

“No, thank you,” he said apologetically. “I’m heading up to the feast.”

The feast was nearly over when he slipped in. A place had been left for him between Aurora and Flitwick. The moment he sat down, Aurora started filling him in on what he’d missed. 

“Karkaroff -- that’s the Durmstrang Headmaster -- his prize pupil is Viktor Krum, the famous Seeker? Not sure if you’re into Quidditch, but that’s important, apparently. The tournament officially opens after the feast, and those two --” she gestured to where two strangers sat beside Igor and Maxine, “-- are Ministry judges, we think. Dumbledore hasn’t mentioned their names yet, though.”

They didn’t have to wait long to find out; Regulus had barely finished his food before the plates were magically emptied and Dumbledore rose, beginning to speak.

“The moment has come. The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartimus Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

Bartimus Crouch -- the name rang a bell, but Regulus couldn’t place it. The man himself, however, was entirely unfamiliar. 

Regulus frowned, observing him as Dumbledore droned on. Bartimus Crouch… he’d been part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, hadn’t he? He’d been complained about once, mocked, among the Death Eaters. Bella had said --

It clicked. Bartimus Crouch had been one of her companions in the torture of the Longbottoms. Junior, though -- not the man who was here. Regulus glanced between Igor and Crouch, but they were separated by Dumbledore and Maxine. Similarly, Severus and Moody were positioned on opposite ends of the table. Regulus wondered if that had been deliberate. He looked around the room, counting. Two former aurors, one father of a Death Eater, and three former Death Eaters if he counted himself. Did the war permeate the Wizarding World so thoroughly, or did Dumbledore just draw people like that to him?

Dumbledore’s speech ended. People began to rise, but few left the hall; instead, the students milled around, staring openly at the goblet that was going to decide the champions. Regulus didn’t care about that. He couldn’t decide who to watch -- Igor, Severus, Moody, Crouch. 

“Antares!” he heard Hagrid say from behind. “They want to see us in the back.”

He bid Aurora goodnight and followed Hagrid into the room behind the Great Hall. Waiting inside were Dumbledore, Bagman, and Crouch. Bagman approached immediately, holding out his hand with a cheerful smile.

“Ludo Bagman, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking both their hands. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Regulus replied. “I’m Antares Crow.” 

“Rubeus Hagrid,” Hagrid said gruffly, nodding. Crouch didn’t bother to introduce himself. 

“Dumbledore says you two are who we need to talk to about setting up the first task,” Bagman continued. “We’re going to be importing some… ah… large magical creatures, which we will be housing in the Forbidden Forest. You won’t be expected to take care of them, of course,” he added quickly. “But we hoped we might have your help in arranging where they will stay and making sure they don’t disrupt the… local wildlife.”

Much to his annoyance, Regulus found himself intrigued. “And what are these creatures, exactly?”

“Dragons,” said Crouch.

“Dragons,” Regulus repeated flatly.

“We will have lots of experts on hand,” Bagman assured him. “It will be completely safe for the students.”

Yes, because fighting  _ dragons  _ was a completely safe activity. 

“Wha’ type?” asked Hagrid, practically vibrating with excitement.

“A variety,” Crouch said. “I believe it was a Swedish Short-Snout, a Chinese Fireball, and a Hungarian Horntail.”

Regulus stared at him. He was beginning to think that this was a very elaborate prank. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “You want the students to fight a Hungarian Horntail?”

“They don’t need to fight it,” Bagman said. “Merely… bypass. We have a team of dragonologists coming in late November, a few days before the first task. Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “This information should be treated with utmost secrecy. Not that we don’t trust the staff,” he added hurriedly, “but slip-ups can, of course, happen, and we don’t want the champions finding out about the task too quickly.”

“If the two of you would decide on an area for the dragons to be housed within the next week and start making any necessary preparations, that would be wonderful,” said Dumbledore.

“O’ course, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” said Hagrid, entirely too happy. Dumbledore smiled at him, something soft and understanding.

“Dragons,” Hagrid said, as they left the room. “Can yeh believe it?”

No. No, he really couldn’t.

There was a feast again the next night. Usually, the Great Hall would’ve been extravagantly decorated with any number of Hallowe’en decorations, but this year there were only a few pumpkins scattered about. The main attraction was the goblet, which the students couldn’t take their eyes off of. Now that Regulus knew about the first task, he, too, was interested in who the champions would be. Many of his NEWT students were seventeen, so it was entirely possible that he’d know the Hogwarts champion -- he’d heard both Cassius Warrington and Peregrine Derrick announce their intention to enter. He didn’t particularly like them, but he certainly didn’t dislike them either, and his house pride demanded he root for a Slytherin to win. At the very least, he was hoping it wasn’t a Gryffindor.

When the feast had concluded, Dumbledore rose, instructing the students on what to do if their names were called. Most of them, however, seemed to be barely paying attention to him, instead staring at the goblet with the sort of rapt attention they rarely had. 

The goblet’s flames turned red, shooting a charred piece of parchment into the air.

“The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum,” Dumbledore announced. The hall erupted into cheers, and Regulus found himself clapping enthusiastically. He hadn’t been at the World Cup, of course, but that didn’t mean he’d denied himself the pleasure of reading about it -- even overshadowed by the appearance of the Dark Mark, Krum’s performance had been noteworthy. Regulus missed being a Seeker. 

The second name emerged: Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, whom Regulus knew nothing about. Following her exit, the Great Hall went silent, anticipation dripping in the air. The teachers, supposedly impartial, were practically on the edge of their seats. 

The third name shot into the air, Dumbledore catching it gracefully. “The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory,” he said. 

The silence shattered, the Hufflepuff table screaming. The Ravenclaws, too, were cheering loudly, but the Slytherins and Gryffindors seemed less enthusiastic. Regulus clapped, smiling. He’d had Diggory last year, although he hadn’t continued to the NEWT level -- he was a nice boy, hardworking. His popularity had been off-putting at first, until Regulus had realized he was nothing like James or the other popular students in Regulus’s time. He was genuinely kind, perhaps naively so. 

Besides, he was a Seeker. 

“Excellent,” Dumbledore called, over the roaring of the crowd. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real --”

Dumbledore stopped, staring at the goblet. As they watched, it spat out another piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it, confusion etched on his face, and there was silence for a very long time.

“Harry Potter,” he read.

Of course he had. Of  _ course _ Potter had managed to fool the Age Line -- not only that, but to get himself accepted as a fourth champion instead of one for Hogwarts -- couldn’t risk not being chosen, could he? Arrogant enough to think that he could defeat champions with years more experience than him, always chasing after fame --

“Harry Potter! Harry! Up here, if you please!” Regulus watched him ascend, standing in front of Dumbledore. “Well… through the door, Harry,” he said. 

Potter passed the staff table, moving stiffly, his expression distant and shocked. Regulus felt guilt twist momentarily in his gut. The boy hadn’t put his name in. He couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to. For a moment, it had just seemed like -- like something James would do. He knew that the boy wasn’t James, had learned and relearned it over the past year, but when Harry acted like him it activated the hatred that he’d buried inside of him immediately. 

“I, ah, believe that concludes tonight’s feast,” Dubledore said, clearly on edge. “You may all return to your common rooms now.” Bagman scuttled after Harry, while the other headmasters and several teachers crowded around Dumbledore, their voices overlapping. Regulus pushed his chair aside, approaching. 

“Enough! I believe we ought to go and speak with Harry to see what happened,” Dumbledore said, waving everyone away. He turned to go into the other room with Crouch and the other headmasters, gesturing for McGonagall to follow. Severus followed without prompting, and, after a beat of hesitation, Regulus trailed after them as well. He had legitimate reason, after all, more so than Severus; there was likely going to be an entirely new dragon being introduced into the mix, if Potter was kept on as champion -- which he shouldn’t be, of course. 

Once inside, Igor and Maxine turned on Dumbledore immediately. Regulus would have been impressed by their daring, if he wasn’t distracted by the familiarity of Igor’s bitter, unfriendly smile. Dumbledore, to his credit, let them speak, listening as they railed on.

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore. Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools,” Igor said. Why did he  _ care _ ? Why did he care about this competition, about Durmtrang, a school he’d never even attended? 

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,” Severus interrupted. Regulus watched him and Igor raptly, but they gave no indication of their previous acquaintance. “Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. He had been crossing lines ever since he arrived here --”

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said, stopping him. He seemed to ignore Maxine and Igor, walking toward Potter instead of addressing any of their concerns. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?”

“No.”

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?”

“ _ No, _ ” Potter insisted. 

“Ah, but of course ’e is lying!” Maxine exclaimed. Most of the rest of the room seemed to agree with her -- Igor was glowering and Severus was shaking his head. 

McGonagall was more difficult to read; clearly unhappy, but contained. “He could not have crossed the Age Line,” she said. “I am sure we are all agreed on that --”

“Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line.”

“It is possible, of course,” Dumbledore said. 

“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake! Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!” McGonagall insisted.

Igor seemed to have given up on reasoning with Dumbledore. “Mr. Crouch… Mr. Bagman, you are our -- er -- objective judges,” he said, his voice honeyed. Regulus had always looked down on his sycophantic nature. Apparently that hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart. “Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Crouch was the one to respond. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” said Bagman cheerily, seeming relieved. 

“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students. You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions,” Igor insisted, before adding, “It’s only fair, Dumbledore.”

“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that. The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out -- it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament --”

“-- in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing! After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises --” Regulus fought the urge to scoff. As if Igor had compromised a day in his life. “-- I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” Moody’s voice growled, and Regulus felt his whole body tense. He turned toward Moody, but his eyes darted between the Death Eaters; Igor had tensed, clenching his hands, and Severus had slunk against the wall, seemingly attempting to blend in with the shadows. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”

“Convenient? I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.” Igor said, his voice a slightly higher pitch than usual. 

“Don’t you? It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone ’oo wished to give ’Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!”

“I quite agree, Madam Maxine,” Igor said, his affected politeness back, and that was rather how the conversation continued: the headmasters insisted that it was unfair, and Moody explained his theory. Someone Confunded the Goblet of Fire, making it think that there were four schools; they submitted Potter’s name; this was all, apparently, an elaborate attempt to get him killed. 

It wasn’t, Regulus admitted, an unlikely theory at all. The issue, of course, was who would’ve done it.

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody, and a very ingenious theory it is --” Igor said. “though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously…” 

“There are those who would turn innocent occasions to their advantage. It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff -- as you ought to remember…” 

“Alastor!” Dumbledore snapped, as Igor flushed, taking a step back. Regulus glanced around the room; Severus had inched nearly the entire way to the doorway.

So it was that despite all their protestations, no one could find a way to disqualify Potter. The champions were given their instructions and ushered out of the room, Maxine and Igor leaving with them. Moody took another look around the room, his eyes landing on Severus, but left with a growl. Severus stared at Regulus for a moment before sweeping out of the room, leaving the judges, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. 

McGonagall didn’t seem to know what to think of his presence; she seemed to be waiting, rather impatiently, to speak with Dumbledore alone. Regulus considered his chances of driving her out and being able to speak with Dumbledore instead. They were low.

“Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman,” he said, turning toward them. “If there is a fourth champion, does that change..?” he trailed off -- did McGonagall know about the first task? Was she allowed to?

“Oh!” said Bagman. “Oh, yes, I’ll need to contact them. Prepare for one more, I suppose. I’ll give you the details when I have them.”

Regulus nodded, turning to leave. He cast another look at Dumbledore, who seemed troubled and distracted. 

If Moody was right… who would have done it? Not Igor, surely; he would never make a move so bold, and with obvious or guaranteed reward. Severus was trusted by Dumbledore, so he was fine despite Regulus’s personal reservations about him. Maxine..? No, she would have literally no motivation to do so.

It wouldn’t be hard, he thought, for a rat to sneak into Hogwarts, even one Dumbledore knew to look for. There weren’t portraits where the goblet had been kept -- he’d just have to wait until there were no ghosts around to transform, put in the paper, and transform back. A rat could be in and out of Hogwarts in mere minutes. 

Potter’s act of mercy had given Regulus so much relief at the time, but now it felt like a curse. Pettigrew was trying to finish the job and kill Potter.

And somehow -- impossibly -- Regulus had become obligated to defend him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are dragons, ft. Charlie Weasley.

Regulus watched with trepidation as Potter’s class began to gather around him. It had only been a few days since the announcement, but no one seemed to be taking it well, save the Gryffindors. He wanted to talk to Potter about it, but he’d wanted time to collect his thoughts first, come up with ideas. Besides, he wasn’t going to approach the boy. If Potter wanted his help, he could find him. 

“Look, it’s the champion,” Regulus heard Draco say mockingly, and he looked up to see Potter and his friends making their way toward him. “Are you giving out autographs again, Potter? Signed photos?”

“If I’d known you were so desperate to get one, I would’ve,” Potter shot back.

Draco, to his credit, seemed unfazed by the insult. “I’m only asking because they’ll be so hard to obtain after you die. How long do you think you’ll last in the Triwizard Tournament? My bet’s on ten minutes.”

Regulus cleared his throat. “The Triwizard Tournament is perfectly safe, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, although he didn’t quite believe it.  _ Dragons _ , of all things. “Five points from Slytherin.” 

Draco scowled, but didn’t say anything.

“I trust you all heeded my warnings and emptied your pockets of anything shiny before you came here?” Regulus asked once the entire class had gathered around him. There were various murmurs of assent. Regulus had forgotten to do so himself when he’d first received the nifflers they were going to be studying; one of them had gotten halfway to the Forbidden Forest with his watch before he’d managed to steal it back.

As the lesson progressed, he noticed the students becoming more and more distracted. They spent most of their time whispering, openly staring at Potter or the abraxans and the Beauxbatons carriage, where students were flitting in and out. 

Annoying as it was, he let it pass. The abraxans  _ were _ rather interesting. 

Predictably, Granger and Potter approached him when the class had ended. Ron trudged up the hill back to the castle, ignoring them. How strange. 

“You don’t really believe he put his name in, Professor?” Granger asked. “Because he didn’t, he would’ve had to get past loads of security and it’s not like he could outsmart an Age Line drawn by  _ Dumbledore _ \--”

“I believe you, Miss Granger,” he said, raising a hand to stop the flow of words. “Do you have any idea who did put it in, Mr. Potter?”

“No,” he replied, a strange look in his eye. “Do you?”

“I can’t help but believe that it is Pettigrew. A rat could slip in undetected, put your name in, and leave in minutes.”

“It’s not him,” Potter said quickly. “It’s just -- it’s not him.”

Regulus frowned. “Why do you say that?” 

Potter didn’t respond for a long time. Granger kept glancing between them, a worried look on her face. “It just isn’t.”

“He cannot be dismissed without evidence,” Regulus replied, annoyed. “He’s the obvious candidate. Why would another Death Eater strike now, after more than a decade? Besides, no one else could get in. I suppose there’s Igor, but he has no motivation --”

“Igor?” Granger asked. 

“Karkaroff,” he clarified.

“Why would he want to hurt Harry?”

Regulus blinked, momentarily surprised. They hadn’t grown up in the Wizarding World, but still -- he supposed he’d expected them to know about Igor and the others. “He was a Death Eater,” he explained. 

The children gaped at him. “How is he allowed to be here?” Granger asked. “Unless he switched sides, like you?”

“He didn’t. He dodged Azkaban by turning others in.” Regulus had read up on the details of what happened to him. None of it was remotely surprising. 

“But --” Granger spluttered. “But -- why is Dumbledore letting him stay here? Why is he allowed to teach children?”

“He’s harmless. He’s not a good person, but he’s a coward, and after being arrested once, he’ll be… more cautious than before.”

“Even so, it’s endangering students’ safety!” Granger protested. 

Regulus tilted his head in concession. “Perhaps, but Dumbledore would not allow anyone to hurt you within these walls. And Igor wouldn’t make a move while --” He cut himself off. He really,  _ really _ didn’t want to get into Moody -- but they were staring at him, openly curious, so he forced himself to continue. “He wouldn’t make a move while Moody is here. He fears him too much.”

“Why?” asked Potter.

Regulus ground his teeth together, trying not to show any emotion on his face. “Mad-Eye Moody has killed and imprisoned many Death Eaters,” he said levelly. “He was the one who got Igor arrested.”

“Did he arrest you?” Granger asked softly. 

“No. No, I defected before most of his work,” he said. There was a slight pause in the conversation, and Regulus took the opportunity to change topics. “Why isn’t Mr. Weasley here?”

To his surprise, Potter immediately scowled, and Granger frowned. 

“Because he’s being a git,” Potter snapped, “and refusing to believe I didn’t put my name in.”

“He just feels overshadowed,” Granger said, immediately leaping to defend him. And… yeah, Regulus could understand that, but this was ridiculous behavior. Between this and last year, he wondered how much time Ron spent ignoring his closest friends.    
“I didn’t ask for this!” Potter shouted. “He can have it if he wants.”

“I know,” she said sympathetically, with the air of someone who had heard this many times before. She turned back to Regulus. “But, Professor Crow -- if it wasn’t Karkaroff and it wasn’t Pettigrew --” she cast a glance toward Potter, but he offered no more explanation -- “then who could it be?”

Not Igor, not Severus, not Pettigrew. If he didn’t know better, the most obvious choice would almost be himself. “I don’t know,” he said softly, and the three of them let the statement hang in the air, not wanting to touch on all that it implied. 

When Regulus next went to the Astronomy Tower, a week and a half after Hallowe’en, he found Aurora sitting beside two cups of tea.

“I’m sorry, were you expecting someone?” he asked, and she smiled at him.

“No,” she said. “But I hoped you’d come. I assume you read the Prophet?”

He took his place beside her, picking up one of the teacups. The tea inside was light, floral, and he sipped it before he spoke. “I do. That article…” he shook his head. It had supposedly been about the Triwizard Tournament, but it had mostly featured Potter. It had talked in depth about his feelings toward his parents, and had managed to touch on a number of other things as well, including his love life. It had been… confusing, and worrying. And he wouldn’t say that he was  _ close _ with Potter, nor did he want to be, but -- there was so much he hadn’t known.

Aurora laughed. “All bullshit, I’m sure, but it was funny. I hope it’s not affecting the kid too badly, though,” she added. 

Regulus fidgeted with the edge of his cup. “I’m not sure that’s fair. I’m sure that he still has some -- emotions, regarding the death of his parents.” Not that he should tell the whole wizarding world about them.

Aurora snorted, looking at him with an expression of disbelief. “You don’t read a lot of Skeeter, do you? She’s less honest than a leprechaun in Gringotts. I mean, you should’ve seen her book on Dippet.”

“Oh?” he asked, feeling suddenly unsteady and ignorant.

“I’m fairly certain she fabricated an entire love story with someone he’d barely met.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was for a love triangle, too. I hate those.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well. I suppose that means you don’t think Potter is seeing Miss Granger, then?”

Aurora shrugged. “I can sincerely say that I try my hardest to know nothing about my students’ love lives.”

Regulus tilted his head back, letting himself breathe a sigh of relief as he stared into the night sky. His eyes found Regulus, and Sirius, and Antares, and the familiarity of the action relaxed him. “I was worried,” he admitted. “The article was concerning.” Not just in the way that he was concerned for Potter, although he had been, against all logic. It was just… he knew things, and he noticed things. Potter crying himself to sleep about his parents, and one of Regulus’s favorite students dating him without Regulus even noticing? It had been all so out of left field that Regulus had feared he was losing his most prized ability. 

“He’s had a lot of decisions made for him, hasn’t he? Not that he hasn’t made quite a few on his own -- I mean, Merlin,  _ breaking into the Chamber of Secrets _ ? But it must get grating, after a while. Minerva believes his story.”

“Don’t you?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I do, for the most part. I’m less sure about Alastor’s theory.” He tensed, the mere mention of Moody putting him on edge. “This seems like an awfully roundabout way to go about killing him, and with no guarantee that it would succeed. You don’t like him much, do you?” she added softly.

Regulus looked at her in confusion. He  _ did _ like the boy -- well, kind of. Most of the time, when he could see him as Harry instead of James. 

“Alastor,” she clarified, the moonlight illuminating the gentle lines of her face. 

Regulus swallowed. “No, I don’t.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said. For a brief moment, he considered it -- not telling her about himself, of course, or Evan, but of fear and of cruelty and of the way he flinched every time he heard Moody’s wooden leg thump against the floor. 

“Thank you,” he said instead, turning his face back to the sky.

There was a beat of silence, in which it became clear that he wasn’t going to speak again. “What were we..? Oh, yes, decisions,” she said, and despite everything he found himself smiling at her understanding.

“It’s not always a bad thing,” he said. “Other people making decisions for you. It’s easier.”  _ You don’t need to figure out who you are if you’re told who to be _ , he thought but did not say.

But he had needed to figure it out, hadn’t he? Eventually, he’d needed to make that choice.

“It’s easier,” she said, “until they keep telling you to act in ways you’re not.”

Regulus was silent. No, even then it had been easier. He’d done things he’d never wanted to, would never want to, but still -- still it had been easier. Going to that cave had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Aurora eyed him, noting his silence. “Everyone craves submission and autonomy in equal measure,” she said. “But control has to be given willingly. There is no one that I would trust to chart the course of my life.”

He had been willing, hadn’t he? Not with his parents, he’d been born into that, but he had knelt in front of the Dark Lord and offered him his arm and his life. He had not trusted him to act in Regulus’s best interests, but he’d trusted him to act in the world’s.

“And what if you make the wrong choice?” he asked. “What if someone knows that you’re going to make the wrong choice, so they make the right one for you?”

“Even mercies can be cruel,” she said softly, and though their conversation drifted on to other topics, that statement rang in his ears for the rest of the night. 

Regulus sighed, scratching a thestral behind the ear. It nickered softly, turning to push its nose into his hand, and he smiled, reaching down to feed it another piece of meat. This was his favorite one, probably, aside from the one he’d sent away with Sirius. He wondered what Sirius had done with her. He hadn’t heard from him since Potter had given Regulus his note.

It was two days until the first task. Things had settled down in the past couple weeks, if a monotony of tension counted as settling down. All Hagrid would talk about were the incoming dragons, and the students hadn’t let up with their disdain of Potter. Regulus had considered getting a POTTER STINKS badge as a keepsake, but even if he pretended it was about James he’d still felt bad about the idea. 

He should probably write to Sirius. He  _ wanted _ to write to Sirius, if only to get a response -- he hadn’t realized how much he would miss Siri’s letters, as demanding and hostile as they were. But what to say? He didn’t know whether to apologize or explain or accuse or beg for forgiveness.

A mixture of all of them, probably.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and he looked up quickly. Standing at the other edge of the clearing was a man Regulus had never seen before. He looked to be about Regulus’s age, but shorter, more muscular, and with bright red hair and an abundance of freckles. He wore practical robes, open past the waist and cropped at the knee, with Muggle-esque pants underneath.

“Hey!” he said cheerily, making his way toward Regulus. “You’re the Care of Magical Creatures professor, right?”

“Um, yes,” Regulus replied, startled. He extended a hand. “I’m Antares Crow.”

The man took his hand, the soft, smooth feeling of dragonhide gloves at his palm contrasting with the roughness of his uncovered fingers. 

“I’m Charlie,” he said.

“Oh! You’re a Weasley,” Regulus exclaimed before he could think better of it. All of the Weasleys he’d taught had mentioned him -- Charlie, the one who worked with dragons. Now that he realized who he was, the resemblance was strikingly obvious. “I’ve had some of your siblings.”

“Right,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “You gave the twins clabberts.”

“I didn’t think they would keep them!” he protested. It had been rather impressive, actually -- owning a clabbert required filling out copious amounts of Ministry paperwork in order to get approved, and he’d asked his students to return the clabberts to him at the end of the year. The twins had come to him and asked to keep them, meticulously completing all of the steps required to legally own them without his help. They couldn’t technically bring the clabberts back to school this year, but he suspected they’d found a way to sneak them in somehow.

Charlie laughed softly. “I’m glad, honestly. Bill and Perce had no interest in magizoology, this is a welcome change.” 

“You came in with the dragons, I suppose?”

“Yeah, last night. I’m surprised you didn’t come with Hagrid,” he said. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Regulus replied, puzzled. He hadn’t realized that Hagrid had gone to see them, although in hindsight it wasn’t all that surprising. “I hope that --”

“Fuck!” Charlie said, jumping and spinning around as a thestral nosed at his head.

Regulus tried not to smile, but he felt his mouth twitching. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you couldn’t see them.”

Charlie relaxed, but some tension remained in his shoulders. “Thestrals, I assume?” he asked, laughing nervously. 

“Thestrals,” he confirmed. Charlie reached out tentatively, patting the thestral on the nose. 

“They’re supposed to be bad luck,” he said distractedly, gently feeling his way toward the thestral’s neck.

“I’ve not found that to be true.”

Charlie glanced at him, smiling. “Yeah, I don’t particularly believe it. Animals are just animals.”

They lapsed into silence, and Regulus found himself desperately wanting to fill it. 

“So what’s your favorite dragon?” he asked, the words sounding clumsy.

Charlie’s eyes widened comically. “You can’t ask me to  _ choose _ !” he exclaimed. “It’s like asking you to pick a favorite magical creature!”

“Thestrals,” he answered immediately. “They’re my favorite.”

“Oh, well… maybe I’m just not nearly as decisive as you,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t have a dragon preference -- they’re all so different, it’s impossible to choose. You?”

“I’m partial to Opaleyes, I think,” he replied. They were elegant, beautiful -- not nearly as powerful as some other breeds, but regal. “I wouldn’t know, though. I’ve never met a dragon.”

Charlie looked up sharply, grinning. “Would you like to?”

Charlie trailed him through the forest, chattering about the different breeds they had imported. Three of them Regulus had already heard about, but he was relieved to learn that the one that had been added was a Welsh Green, a relatively harmless breed. They turned a corner, rapidly approaching the fenced-in dragon enclosure, and Regulus felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“Oh,” he said.

The dragon slumbering in front of him was enormous, and such a deep red and gold it nearly looked unreal. The curves of its face looked painted on, impossibly smooth.

“Chinese Fireball?” he managed to ask, his voice embarrassingly breathless.

“Yeah,” Charlie said from his left, closer than Regulus had anticipated, and Regulus jumped. “Sorry,” he said, grinning apologetically. 

“No, it’s -- it’s okay,” he replied, unusually flustered. “He’s beautiful.”

“She,” Charlie corrected. “They’re all nesting mothers. She wouldn’t usually be sleeping now, but between the time change and the amount of stuns and potions we had to use on them during travel… she’s a little out of it.” 

Regulus tore his eyes away from the dragon, scanning the surrounding area. He could see the large form of what he assumed to be the Hungarian Horntail a little ways off, and various people were milling about. He couldn’t spot the other two dragons.

He was fairly certain he should raise the issue of ethics, of pitting children against fully grown dragons, but as he watched the Fireball turn in its sleep he found all thoughts of that fleeing his mind. It was  _ glorious _ . 

“Nothing prepares you, really,” Charlie said. “I’d done so much research, but the first time I actually saw one…” he trailed off, but Regulus understood. The creature in front of him was beyond words. 

“Can I see the others?” he asked, and this time Charlie’s smile was soft.

He led Regulus around the area in relative silence, allowing him to wonder at the dragons. By the time they’d reached the third, the Swedish Short-Snout, their conversation started again, flowing easily. Charlie talked about his brothers; Regulus offered no information about his own, but entertained Charlie with anecdotes about the twins in class. The conversation drifted to Ron, and to Potter. Much to his surprise, Regulus found himself able to navigate the talk honestly in both his praise and criticism of Potter. He deflected most questions about his life before teaching, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind, and he talked about his classes and creatures instead. And dragons; Regulus hadn’t been particularly interested in them before, but between actually seeing them and the enthusiastic way Charlie spoke of them, he was fascinated. 

Charlie was describing the Swedish Short-Snout’s fire -- it burned through bone in seconds, and Regulus wondered how in Merlin’s name Potter was supposed to survive this task -- when a voice called out Charlie’s last name. 

“A second, Keys!” he called back. “Shit, sorry, I have to go. See you at the first task? It was great to meet you,” he added, his last words tossed over his shoulder as he jogged away.

“You as well, Mr. Weasley,” Regulus said, but he doubted Charlie heard him. 

Regulus squeezed through the bleachers, taking a seat next to Hagrid. The man immediately turned to face him, ginning.

“Excitin’, isn’ it?” he asked. Regulus could only nod mutely, watching as the first dragon -- the Swedish Short-Snout -- paced around the arena, poking at her eggs. “They’ll need teh get the golden egg,” he explained. “Wonder if Charlie could lend me one o’ the real ones, though…”

he added wistfully.

“Is he in charge?” Regulus asked, surprised. He’d assumed that Charlie was just another worker. 

“Nah, he’s jus’ the one I know best. Used to chat with me, back in his school days. ’sides, he’s Ron’s brother.” 

Regulus hummed, not really sure what to say. He was spared from responding by Aurora’s voice, which appeared to the right of him.

“ _ Dragons _ , are you -- excuse me, Septima -- are you serious?” she exclaimed, plopping down beside Regulus. “Did you know about this, Antares?”

Regulus shrugged, offering her a small smile. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone. Sorry.”

Hagrid had turned to look at her, and it occurred to Regulus that as much time he’d spent with both of them, he’d never actually been around them together before. 

“Um, Hagrid, this is Aurora,” he said. “Aurora, this is Hagrid.”

“We’ve met,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Barely, but still. Who’s this?” she asked, gesturing to the dragons.

“I don’t believe they have names, but she’s a Swedish Short-Snout. Not known for killing people, but that’s only because it doesn’t run into them very much. Its fire is entirely blue, and extremely deadly. It's also very agile, unlike some of the larger dragons in the Tournament.”

“Larger -- they’re not all fighting the same one? That seems unfair.”

Regulus shrugged. “More interesting this way, I guess.”

“Jus’ wait until the Horntail,” Hagrid piped in, rubbing his hands together. “Now  _ tha’ _ is gonna be interestin’.”

“It’s a particularly aggressive breed, particularly when it comes to defending its young,” Regulus explained. “And its tail is also a weapon, rather than just its fire.”

Aurora whistled. “Damn, at least we’re going to get a show.” If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought there was an undercurrent of worry in her voice. 

It was Diggory who came out first, to thunderous applause. Regulus felt himself shifting forward in his seat -- the dragon had noticed Diggory, but wasn’t doing anything yet. He started by dodging around the arena, scoping out the dragon and her nest. The dragon, seeing this, shot a blast of fire at him -- the crowd gasped, but he rolled out of the way, hiding behind a rock. But it hardly mattered -- the rock was already melting from the Short-Snout’s fire, and was only moments away from dissolving completely. Regulus squinted, unable to see what Diggory was doing. A moment later, it became clear as one of the rocks near him transformed into a dog. The Short-Snout founded after it, abandoning her nest, and Diggory raced out from behind his rock, aiming for the golden egg. The energy in the crowd was electric -- it reminded Regulus of Quidditch games, the moment before he captured the Snitch, when there was nothing but the wind and the crackling energy of the crowd. Diggory was going to make it --

The dragon spun around, blasting fire at his face. Regulus felt Aurora’s arm dart out and grab his, her fingernails digging into his forearm. Diggory scrambled forward on all fours, launching himself onto the egg.

The crowd roared. “ _ Stupefy! _ ” Regulus heard the dragonologists say, rushing into the arena to deal with the Short-Snout. He could see Charlie’s red hair bobbing through the group. Madam Pomfrey rushed onto the field as well, supporting Diggory as he was hauled into an adjacent tent. 

Aurora loosened her grip on his arm. “Sorry,” she said, sounding shaken. “I’m not a big fan of… this. Merlin, I don’t even like Quidditch.”

“That was pretty brutal,” Regulus agreed. He wondered how well Pomfrey would be able to heal the wound, if Diggory would have a scar for the rest of his life.

Even Hagrid looked disturbed by this turn of events, but he didn’t comment as they hauled the dragon away, quickly replacing her with another. 

“Common Welsh Green,” Regulus said to Aurora. “Generally non-confrontational. This should be the easiest one.” He hoped it was Potter’s. “Hopefully you’ll get to hear its roar. It’s quite beautiful,” he explained. He’d gotten to hear it for the first time when Charlie had shown him the dragons, and it had taken his breath away. He was sure he’d looked like an idiot, but Charlie had just grinned at him.

Regulus tried not to be too disappointed when Delacour’s name was called instead of Potter’s. With any luck, he would get the Fireball; they were aggressive, but their fire was easy enough to dodge. 

Regulus clapped politely as the girl stepped into the arena. The dragon eyed her, but made no move to leave her nest, seeming content to just sit and watch. The only sound was Bagman’s incessant commentary; it was quiet enough that even from the stands, they could hear when Delacour made her first move. 

“ _ Stupefy! _ ” she yelled. Regulus fought the urge to wince preemptively. The dragon roared as the charm hit her, a melodic, shifting sound that seemed to momentarily stun the watching crowd. Regulus could feel goosebumps rising along his arms, and for a moment there was something both measured and wild inside him, thrumming, trying to get out. 

Then she shot a jet of fire at Delacour, and the moment was broken. She dodged, barely, stumbling on the rocks. The dragon curled more tightly around her eggs, growling softly, and Delacour ducked behind cover. A few moments later, she emerged, shooting another spell at her, but by this point the crowd was loud enough that it was difficult to hear. Whatever it was, it enraged the dragon, who leapt out of her nest and started racing toward her, impossibly fast. Delacour ran around the perimeter of the arena, zig-zagging her way through the rocks before leaping toward the nest. The dragon cut her off with a line of fire, and she retreated, hiding behind a boulder as the dragon returned to her nest. 

Delacour didn’t move for a few minutes. When she did, it was to cast what looked like several spells in rapid succession at the dragon, who quickly began to lower her head and close her eyes. Delacour approached her cautiously, but she showed no signs of waking up; after a moment, Delacour began to move more quickly, reaching for the golden egg. Before she retrieved it, however, the dragon let out a snore, a small bit of flame puffing from her nostrils and setting Delacour’s skirt on fire. Unfazed, she put it out and picked up the egg. The crowd went wild, and Delacour lifted the egg over her head once before quickly distancing herself from the dragon, who was already being swarmed by her handlers. Regulus admired how efficient they were; within minutes, the dragon and her eggs had been swapped for the next breed, the Chinese Fireball. Regulus stared down at it, envisioning Potter on the field. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of how Potter would get past it. Regulus had moved their unit on dragons to earlier in the year, but still -- he was going to be woefully unprepared.

“Aren’t you going to tell me about the breed?” Aurora asked, amused. 

“The Chinese Fireball, so named for the distinctive shape of its flames. It’s about as dangerous as the Short-Snout in this situation, perhaps a little more -- Fireballs tend to be more aggressive toward humans than Short-Snouts.”

Aurora opened her mouth, but was cut off by Bagman announcing the next champion -- Krum. Dread pooled in Regulus’s stomach. That meant Potter was getting the Horntail, then.

Krum entered the arena confidently, seemingly unfazed by the dragon. It took only a few moments for him to make his move -- a Conjunctivitis Curse, by the looks of it -- and the dragon began to stumble around, thrashing her head wildly. As they watched, one of her feet fell on an egg, crushing it. Regulus flinched, not wanting to watch but unable to tear his eyes away from the flailing dragon. Krum dodged forward, attempting to get to the golden egg, but her movements were too erratic, and with each step, more of her eggs were destroyed. Daringly, Krum rushed toward her, darting between her legs, and snatched the golden egg from the nest to thunderous applause. 

“That was smart,” Regulus admitted, although the sight of the destroyed eggs had nausea rolling in his gut. “A dragon’s eyes are its weakest point. Potter doesn’t know that, probably, I didn’t mention it in class, I have no idea how he’s going to deal with this --” he cut himself off. 

Aurora patted him on the arm. “He’s invincible, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be your fault if he did,” she replied, somewhat forcefully. She froze, looking startled, then coughed slightly. “I mean… it wouldn’t be your fault. You didn’t put his name in the goblet,” she reminded him. “You can’t be expected to change your whole curriculum for one student.”

Those were… true, although he’d done the latter several times, so he wasn’t quite sure her point was valid. The problem was, Potter  _ was _ his responsibility -- kind of -- maybe. He was Siri’s responsibility, but Siri wasn’t here. Besides, he was fighting a  _ dragon _ . His Care of Magical Creatures professor should have prepared him for that. 

He was spared from answering by Potter’s entrance. He took a few steps into the arena and raised his wand, shouting something unintelligible. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have any effect on the Horntail, but Potter didn’t move. The crowd’s noises dimmed a bit, confused muttering replacing their cheers. 

A broomstick zoomed into the arena, stopping at Potter’s side. Regulus leaned forward as the crowd cheered, anticipation filling him. It was brilliant -- he didn’t have the magical skills to best a dragon, but his flying skills -- 

Regulus hated to admit it, but now, watching Potter dip and spin through the air, he had to. His flying skills were magnificent, certainly better than Regulus’s had been at that age. (Probably better than they had ever been, honestly, but he was hardly going to concede that.) He could recognize the ghosts of Quidditch strategies, too, in the moves he made to confuse the dragon. 

All at once, it was over. Potter swooped in, collected the egg, and flew away, and Regulus found himself on his feet, clapping wildly. He wasn’t the only one -- most of the faculty around him had also risen. Hagrid left, rushing down and out of the stands and toward Potter with McGonagall and Moody. Regulus hesitated, but stayed where he was, unsure if Potter would really want him there. He could congratulate him later, he supposed, when the urge to say something phenomenally stupid like  _ Siri would be proud _ had passed. 

As the crowd began to disperse, Regulus and Aurora made their way down to Hagrid, and the three of them chatted lightly about the event. Hagrid wouldn’t stop smiling, incessantly proud; the love that seemed to pour out of him was blinding. It was almost relieving when Charlie jogged up to them, interrupting the conversation. 

“We need to finish up with this,” he said, gesturing toward the dragons, “but a few of us were going to get a drink at the Three Broomsticks later tonight, do the two -- er, three --” he added, glancing at Aurora, “of you want to join us?” 

“Of course!” Hagrid said, before Regulus could respond.

Charlie grinned. “Great! See you there,” he said, and Regulus watched him depart with a feeling he couldn’t quite place. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Regulus has conversations, feat. pretty much everyone except Sirius.

The dragonologists had already arrived by the time Regulus and Hagrid made their way to the Three Broomsticks. Charlie waved at them from a table in the corner, and as they approached there was an immediate scraping of chairs as they shifted to make room for the newcomers. Regulus found himself sitting between Hagrid and Charlie, the latter of which quickly started making introductions.

“This is Hagrid and Antares, they both work at the school,” he said. “You two, this is Keys, Caspian, Bumblebee -- er, Beatrice, technically -- Saufiya, Luca, and Horațiu. They all work at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, with me.”

Regulus nodded as they all made various motions of greeting. Madame Rosmerta appeared, taking their orders, and after she left the table began to fill with soft chatter.

“Your, uh, friend didn’t come?” Charlie asked, turning toward Regulus.

“Aurora? This isn’t really her type of thing,” he replied, not entirely sure if it was true. He didn’t  _ think _ it was, but he hadn’t seen her in very many situations.

Charlie shrugged. “Fair enough. Are you two a couple?” he added casually.

“Wh -- no, we -- I’m not -- I. No,” Regulus spluttered. Him and  _ Aurora _ ? Even if he wasn’t -- what he was, he still wouldn’t go for her. She was his… friend, probably. Confidant? He wouldn’t want to ruin that. 

Charlie raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry I asked,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“I’m -- sorry, I just really wasn’t expecting that question,” Regulus explained, attempting to compose himself. “We’re not together, no. I’m not -- neither of us are seeing anyone. What about you?” he asked, desperately trying to deflect the conversation. 

“Nope, I’m single,” he replied easily. “I don’t see many people outside of work.” 

“Me neither,” Regulus admitted. “This is probably the first time I’ve been out in… ages.”

The edge of Charlie’s mouth quirked up. “I’m glad you could come, then,” he said.

There was a pause, and Regulus became suddenly aware of the many conversations going on around them. Charlie seemed to as well, tilting his head nearly imperceptibly toward the others, and after a moment he jumped seamlessly into one about Harry’s performance. 

“He’s a fantastic flier. Wood was so heartbroken when I left, he kept going on and on about how they’d never find a suitable replacement. Apparently I’ve been outshone,” he said wryly.

“You were a Seeker?” Regulus asked, not quite managing to keep the surprise out of his voice. He was short, sure, but stocky and rather more muscular than Seekers usually were. Regulus would’ve guessed he was a Beater, if anything. 

“Yep, played on the Gryffindor team for six years. I miss it,” he said wistfully. “I almost considered trying to go pro, but -- you know, dragons. Did you ever play?”

“Yes! I mean, uh, no, I was homeschooled,” Regulus said quickly, remembering himself. “But when I did get to play friendlies I was always Seeker.” 

“I don’t get it,” said Lucas -- no, it was Luca, wasn’t it? --, shaking his head. “Seeker sounds like the most boring position, but everyone cares so much about them. I mean, Potter, Krum…”

“Diggory, too,” Regulus said. “He’s Hufflepuff’s.”

“And Harry was the only one who thought to use a broom? Props to him,” said Charlie. “I’m a little glad Krum didn’t, honestly, he’s really good. We saw him at the World Cup.  _ That _ was a good match.”

“Booo,” said Beatrice, half-heartedly. “I was rooting for Bulgaria,” she explained, shrugging.

Charlie shook his head. “There’s no accounting for taste with you, is there. The rest of us are pro-Ireland,” he said, turning back to Regulus. “Except Cas, he’s neutral.”

“I was definitely rooting for Ireland, but to be honest I care more about the individual Seekers than the teams, excepting England. And the Harpies, if we’re counting League teams,” Regulus said.

“Holyhead Harpies, huh?” Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow. Regulus supposed it was a rather unconventional choice -- as an all-witch team, their fan base was primarily female, but Fiona had won him over with her neverending devotion to them. “Better than the Cannons, I suppose, Ron is obsessed with them. Or the Wasps,” he added darkly.

“You’re a fan of the Arrows, then?” Regulus asked, amused. The Appleby Arrows and the Wimborne Wasps had a notorious rivalry, and their fans tended to be… rather antagonistic toward each other. 

Charlie grinned. “They’re amazing. They just got a new Seeker -- Cotton? -- and he hasn’t played much yet, but he seems like he has a lot of promise. Pulled off a Plumpton’s pass last game against the Bats within ten minutes.”

“Plumpton’s pass isn’t a real move,” he said automatically. 

Charlie spluttered. “Of course it is!”

“It isn’t!” insisted Regulus, smiling despite himself. “Everyone knows Plumpton accidentally got the Snitch up his sleeve.”

“Even so, it’s become a valid move, regardless of Plumpton’s original intention,” Charlie argued. “Which, for the record, wasn’t accidental.”

“Agree to disagree?” asked Regulus.

“If you insist,” Charlie said, smiling. “I’m going to get another drink, should I grab you anything?”

“I’ll take another firewhiskey,” he said, and a moment later Charlie was gone and he was alone. Well, not alone, technically -- but the only person he actually knew besides Charlie was Hagrid, and was deeply engrossed in a conversation with one of the dragonologists -- Keys, maybe? -- about dragon-rearing. Caspian was silently listening to the two of them talk, one arm over the back of his chair, and the other four dragonologists were laughing together about -- something, Regulus wasn’t sure what. He felt suddenly like an interloper, outside of the others, like he wasn’t supposed to be there. 

Then Charlie was there, sliding back into his chair, and the feeling evaporated. He passed Regulus his firewhiskey and took a sip of his own drink, grimacing.

“Ugh,” he said. “This is Bill’s favorite drink, I have no idea how he does it. We get entrance to the other two tasks,” he said suddenly. “I don’t know whether I’m going to come, it’s a lot of travel.” 

“You should,” Regulus said confidently, before he could think better of it. “I mean, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he added, not entirely sure why he was pushing so hard for Charlie to come back.

Charlie hummed, looking strangely pleased. “Alright,” he said, after a pause. “I’ll see you there, then.” 

“Stay behind after class, Mr. Potter?” Regulus said quietly as he passed Potter’s table. Potter looked up from his book and nodded, curiosity evident in his eyes, but Regulus continued his patrol of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter and Granger share a glance with Ron. They seemed to have made up from whatever fight they were having. 

Merlin, Regulus was tired. That’s what he got for staying up drinking on a school night, he supposed. At least his very mild hangover had gone away but -- Merlin, he was  _ so tired _ . 

It had been nice, though, chatting with Charlie and the other dragonologists -- mostly Charlie, to be honest, but he’d gotten to know a fair bit about the others as well. None of them, it seemed, were coming back for the other tasks. They didn’t have the personal connection that Charlie did to Hogwarts and Harry, so there was less of a motivation for them to return. It was a shame; they’d been nice, fun to talk to. For most of his life, Regulus had been surrounded by friends. He’d had only a few he was really  _ close _ with, sure, but spending time with the dragonologists had made him realize that he missed… something. Being part of a group, maybe. Hagrid and Aurora were wonderful, but maybe they weren’t enough.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” Potter asked warily, once class was over. His two friends hovered behind him.

“I just wanted to say that you were brilliant out there. Really -- that was some of the best flying I’ve seen in a long time, and thinking to summon the broom… it was incredibly clever,” Regulus said, and then, against his better judgement, “I’m sure Siri will be thrilled when he hears about it.” 

Potter’s face lit up at the mention of his godfather. “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “I mean, the broom summoning was kind of Moody’s idea, but --”

“What do you mean?” asked Regulus, a little too sharply. 

Potter and Granger shared a glance. “Well, he found out that I knew about the dragons, and --”

“You knew about the dragons?”

Potter stared at him. “...Hagrid showed them to me,” he admitted. “I thought you knew. All of the other champions knew about them, too,” he added quickly.

Hagrid -- of course Hagrid had. He wanted to feel angry, but he couldn’t. “I don’t blame him,” he said, and he saw Potter relax. “I considered telling you myself, but I thought teaching you about dragons would be enough.” He frowned. “How did the other champions know?”

“Er, Hagrid showed Madame Maxine, too, and Karkaroff was spying on them. And then I told Cedric, to make it even.”

Regulus smiled, faintly. “How chivalrous of you.” 

They lapsed into silence. Regulus assumed they would leave, but Potter just sort of stood there, an indecipherable expression on his face. 

“I don’t think Sirius trusts you very much,” he finally said. “Why…”

Regulus ground his teeth together. “I,” he said, carefully, “haven’t gotten the chance to explain everything to him yet.”

“Can’t you just write?” Ron asked, and that was the problem. He  _ couldn’t _ . Siri wanted answers, and he couldn’t figure out how to say them.

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s not that simple.” 

“He thinks Karkaroff put my name in the goblet,” Potter said, changing the subject. 

“It’s possible,” Regulus conceded, though he doubted it. “But we’ve been over this, I don’t think he has the motivation… have you figured out what the second task is?”

“It’s only been a day,” Potter said sourly. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what it is?”

Regulus shook his head. “I only knew about the last one because I had to help coordinate the dragons. They haven’t told me about the next task.”

“At least that means you probably won’t be facing magical creatures,” Ron piped up, and that was something, he supposed.

“Yeah,” said Potter glumly. “With my luck, it’ll be worse.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Mr. Potter,” said Regulus, although he really wasn’t. “You have time to figure it out.”

“Thanks,” Potter said. “We should get to lunch,” he added, and the three of them filed out of the room, leaving Regulus alone.

All too soon, it was December. There was nothing happening, not now, but several things loomed on the horizon -- midterms, the ball, Christmas, Dumbledore’s promise that they would search Bella’s house. It felt like too much, but there was nothing he could  _ do _ about it, just wait. Christmas came with both crashing relief and paralyzing terror.

There were more gifts at the foot of his bed than last year. Rock cakes from Hagrid, and a book -- Regulus had gotten Hagrid a miniature Norwegian Ridgeback, inspired by the dragons he’d heard had been given to the champions. Aurora had gifted him soft dragonhide gloves; he’d spent hours agonizing over whether or not they were good enough friends for him to get her a gift, and had eventually settled on a star-themed pair of hatpins. Remus sent him an enchanted flask and a letter asking if they could meet up, which he put aside to answer later. Most surprisingly was a package from Granger, which contained various ingredients for Polyjuice Potion and an extra S.P.E.W. badge. It was sweet, if a bit confusing. There was nothing from Sirius, for whom Regulus had bought a variety of his favorite sweets.  _ Merry Christmas _ , Regulus had written, but nothing else. They’d talk soon. Sometime.

It didn’t matter. He pushed any thoughts of Sirius out of his head, doing little tasks to busy himself before the ball -- giving Kreacher his Christmas gift (a necklace, because it didn’t count as clothing), responding to Remus (yes, but hesitantly), and spending time with Hagrid. Eventually, he made his way back to his room to prepare for the ball, putting on his deep green dress robes and trying to figure out what to do with his hair. If he were in his real body, he’d put it up, but his hair right now was short and confusing, so he just let it do what it wanted. The effect was rather less put together than he would’ve liked, but he supposed it would have to do.

The Great Hall was possibly the most beautiful he’d ever seen it. He liked the way the tables were most of all, smaller, round -- it felt less like he was being put on display than at the usual staff table, and it was easier to just… fade away into the crowd. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said to Aurora, who smiled at him and returned the greeting. Her robes were a dark purple, accented with silver and gold embroidery, leagues more formal than anything else he'd seen her wear. Her hat, likewise, was shorter and more decorated than her usual ones, and he was pleased to see it held in place by the hatpins he'd purchased her. She looked lovely. In another life -- a better life -- Regulus thought he could have married her. 

(Not loved her, though. Never that.)

"Would you do me the honor of this dance?" he asked, when the meal had finished. 

"I'll warn you, I'm not a very good dancer," she said, but took his hand anyway. Regulus was pretty decent, or had been, anyway; it had been years since he’d danced. Andromeda and Cissa had loved it, Andy most of all, and Regulus had been the easiest to pull into their games. Then Bella, pretending not to be interested, and Siri, grumbling. But that had been… before. It was only in his second year at Hogwarts that Andromeda married the Muggleborn, and then Cissa got married and started spending less time with them, and even though spending time with her was always good she stopped asking him to dance. Which was fine, really -- better, even, as it had never really been his thing to begin with. 

Merlin, he missed Cissa. 

His eyes instinctively scanned the room, accidentally landing on the champions -- how Granger and Krum had gotten together was a complete mystery. Finally,  _ finally _ , he found Draco, who was dancing rather boredly with Parkinson. He was a good dancer; no doubt his mother was proud. 

"You seem distracted," Aurora said, and he dragged his eyes back to her. "Someone else you'd rather be dancing with?" she asked, her voice teasing. 

"No," he said, truthfully, but his mind suddenly jumped to Charlie, laughter crinkling in his eyes, the way he'd drifted into Regulus's space as the night progressed. And --

Regulus was definitely not going to address whatever  _ that _ thought was. 

"No," he repeated more firmly, and they spun and spun in circles. 

Regulus rapped on the door of the apartment, shifting uncomfortably. The Muggles at the end of the hallway stared at him openly and he leveled a glare in their direction. The door swung open, revealing Remus, who was dressed in rumpled Muggle clothing. They stared at each other for a moment. Regulus wondered who was supposed to speak first. 

“Regulus, hi,” Remus eventually said, opening the door wider and stepping back. “Come in.” 

Regulus stepped inside, taking in the room. It was sparsely decorated, but well organized. He half expected to find Sirius lurking in a corner, for this meeting to be some sort of trap, but there was no sign that anyone other than Remus had been here.

He tried not to feel too disappointed about that. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Tea, coffee?” Remus asked.

“Tea would be lovely,” Regulus replied, hovering just inside the doorway. Remus disappeared into the kitchen, and after a few moments Regulus crossed the room and perched on the edge of the couch. 

Remus reappeared holding two cups, handing one to Regulus, and settled into an adjacent chair. “How have you been?” he asked.

Regulus opened his mouth, intending to say the usual ---  _ fine  _ or  _ good  _ or  _ well, thank you _ \-- but what came out of his mouth instead was, “Terrible.” Remus looked surprised. “I mean, I’ve been good,” he said hurriedly. “There have been some very good things. It’s just… a stressful situation.” 

“Is Snape still giving you trouble?” Remus asked carefully, and Regulus felt a rush of gratitude that that was what he was starting with, not Sirius or the tournament or the Dark Mark.

“No, not him. I think Dumbledore must have spoken with him, he’s mostly avoided me. But Moody --” he cut himself off, tensing, but Remus’s face remained impassive. “It’s… difficult for me to be around Moody. Not to mention Igor,” he added, and Remus frowned. “Karkaroff.”

“Right -- he was a Death Eater as well, wasn’t he?”

Regulus nodded. “He’s the Headmaster of Durmstrang, now, so he’s here for the Triwizard Tournament. I suppose you’ve heard about what’s happening with Potter?”

“Between the Prophet and Sirius, I’ve gotten pretty filled in. He thinks it’s Karkaroff who put Harry’s name in.”

“I think it’s Pettigrew, but Potter is convinced otherwise. Karkaroff is too much of a coward.” Remus hummed, but said nothing.”It’s just that,” Regulus continued after a few moments, “I feel like I’m constantly walking on eggshells. Mad-Eye Moody has killed  _ so  _ many Death Eaters, I have no idea what he’ll do if he finds out I’m… who I am. And then there’s Severus and Igor, constantly reminding me of my past, and Cissa’s son is the most infuriating student I’ve had to teach, and the Dark Lord is getting stronger every day and  _ I can’t stop it _ . I can’t even protect Potter, because everyone just seems to think that it’s  _ okay _ that he’s in a competition made for wizards years older than him.”

Remus was staring at him with something a little too close to pity for Regulus’s liking.

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” he snapped, and Remus raised an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure you just told me all the reasons you aren’t, actually.”

Regulus glared at him, but he steadily met his gaze. “I -- I’m fine.  _ Really _ ,” he said. “No one knows who I am except Dumbledore and the children, so I haven’t really had the chance to tell anyone any of this. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m happy to listen. But…” he paused, shooting Regulus an apologetic glance. “You should probably write to your brother.”

“I’ve tried,” he said softly. “Do you know how hard it is to address decades of history in a letter?” 

“I do, actually,” Remus said, his voice faintly amused. “But our relationship was less, ah, hostile than yours, so I understand. Avoiding him isn’t going to help anything, though.”

“I  _ know _ ,” he said, glaring into his cup of tea. He’d  _ tried _ . Nothing seemed sufficient.

His skin started to bubble underneath him. He’d considered drinking more Polyjuice, earlier, but Remus knew who he was; there was no need to waste it. Now that it was happening, the thought of Remus seeing him made a sharp bundle of nerves form in his chest for reasons he couldn’t explain. After a moment, he glanced up.

Remus was staring at him with a look of undisguised surprise. “Oh, wow,” he said. “You look… very young.”

Regulus blinked. “...no younger than I am as Antares?” Remus had talked to Dumbledore about Regulus -- surely he’d explained?

“I had wondered why you’d pick a body so young, but you’re really just -- how old are you?”

“About twenty.”

“So all these years, you haven’t just been faking your death? You’ve been..?” The question hung in the air between them.

Regulus hesitated. He couldn’t really talk about the horcruxes; if Dumbledore hadn’t told him, Regulus certainly wasn’t going to. But he could tell him something.

“I’ve been in a sort of stasis. When I… defected… I tried to do something that I thought would end in my death. It didn’t,” he added. 

“I noticed,” Remus said dryly. “How long?”

“Fourteen years. I’ve only been conscious about a year and a half.”

“Oh,” he said. “I guess that explains some things.”

“What about you? What have you been up to lately?”

Remus shrugged. “Been in and out of jobs, mostly. It’s difficult to get them now that everyone knows about my… condition. I’ve found a nice, deserted forest to transform in, though, so at least there’s that,” he said bitterly. 

Regulus frowned. “I thought Wolfsbane made it so that you could just stay at home.”

“Yes, well. Even if I was talented enough to brew it, the ingredients are exceptionally expensive.”

“So you’ve just been going without it since you left Hogwarts? What if you bit someone?”

“It’s not like I have any other options,” Remus snapped. 

“I can make it for you,” Regulus said, not entirely sure what he was going to say until it left his mouth.

Remus stared at him for a moment. “You would do that?” he asked.

“I hardly want a safety hazard traipsing around England,” Regulus said, looking away from Remus, whose expression was uncomfortably soft. “Besides, I’m getting bored of Polyjuice. This will add some variety.” 

“I see,” said Remus, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “This is for  _ purely _ self-serving reasons. Not out of kindness or friendship.”

Regulus sniffed. He did like Remus, to be honest, but he was hardly going to  _ admit _ it. “Well, if you’re -- if you’re dating my brother, you’re practically family --” he started, but cut himself off as he saw Remus’s expression. “What?”

“Did he tell you that?” he asked, a hint of something in his voice -- nervousness, probably, or trepidation.

“No, I figured it out on my own, you two were obvious. You  _ are _ a couple, aren’t you?” he added, after a pause. 

Remus grinned sheepishly. “Remember what you were saying about decades of history?”

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Remus responded. “I’m surprised you’re so, um, okay with us being together.”

Regulus really shouldn’t have brought it up, because this was edging dangerously close to things he did  _ not  _ want to talk about. “Yes, well,” he said, a little stiffly. “As long as Siri is happy. Better you than James.”

Remus frowned. “I meant --”

“I have to go, actually,” said Regulus, rising and taking a swig of Polyjuice Potion. “Thank you for having me. I’ll see you next month to give you the potion.”

“Right,” Remus said. “Thank you.” 

Regulus started to turn, but paused. “Will he -- Potter said that he’s coming back to England. Will he be staying with you?”

“I don’t know. It might not be safe, for either of us. I’ll keep you updated, though. Tell Harry and the others I said hi?” he added.

“I will,” Regulus promised, and Apparated away, relief crashing down on him once he was alone. He holed himself up in his room, pushing his conversation with Remus from his mind. He had other things to worry about.

Uncle Cygnus’s manor was both exactly and nothing like Regulus remembered it.

The grounds were overgrown, wild grasses and vines crawling up the hose and the gate, and the old home looked rather more forlorn than Regulus had last seen it. The stables where Aunt Druella had kept her horses were completely weather-beaten and nearly falling apart. The wrought-iron gates hung open. It was clear from the first glance that the manor had not been lived in for quite some time.

And yet… the  _ toujours pur _ that ran across the top of the gates was still there, the manor still as finely-made and intimidating as it had ever been. Regulus felt like a child again.

“After you, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said quietly from beside him, and he stepped through the threshold. 

He was disguised as Antares today, because he couldn’t exactly trust the portraits to keep his secret. The wards recognized him regardless, letting him pass through the gate without trouble. He was still family. He didn’t wait for Dumbledore, crossing the grounds without stopping, but after a few moments he could hear the man following him.

“Don’t touch the knockers,” he said once they reached the door. “They bite.” His hands hovered over the doorknobs for a moment too long before he turned them and pushed his way into the house. 

A cloud of dust hit him, and he doubled over, coughing.

“Who’s there?” he heard, in a voice that was unbelievably familiar -- a voice that couldn’t be there, a voice that was supposed to be in Azkaban -- “More Ministry scum, come to raid my house? Oh, it’ll be fun to see you try.”

Regulus looked up, waving away the dust, his eyes falling upon the painting at the end of the foyer. Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella on the couch, Cissa hovering at the edge of the frame as though she had just arrived, and Bella, standing, scowling at the intruders.

“You!” she hissed, as Dumbledore stepped inside. She started saying more -- any insult she could hurl at him -- but Regulus ignored her, too caught up in the rest of the painting to notice. His aunt and uncle were sharing a cigarette, the smoke rippling the texture of the paint as it moved. Cissa, originally curious, had mirrored her sister’s hateful expression, though it was perhaps haughtier and less emotional than Bella’s. She looked so young, barely sixteen; it had been painted just after Andromeda left, he remembered. 

“I’ll be looking at the sitting room, if you would like to take the kitchen,” Dumbledore said, completely ignoring Bellatrix’s ranting. 

He tore his eyes away from the painting and nodded, turning left. Bellatrix’s voice faded as she chased after Dumbledore. Aunt Druella had always preferred landscapes to portraits; Regulus had never felt so grateful for that fact. Back at Grimmauld Place, there were relatives around every corner. 

The kitchen was clearly not designed for humans; each of the dounters had a raised platform beneath them, making it more easily accessible for the house-elves. He half expected to see one of them there, but the kitchen was just as dusty and abandoned as the rest of the house. 

“Who are  _ you _ ?” he heard, and he turned to see Cissa standing in a grassy field that hung above the sinks. She dusted off her robes and ran her fingers through her hair; evidently, she’d run to catch up to him.

“I’m looking for something,” he said in lieu of an answer, opening various cabinets until he came across the cups and goblets. They were all standard, matching -- none of them Hufflepuff’s. 

Cissy sniffed. “I don’t see why you think you have the right to rummage around  _ our _ house.”

“It’s… important.” He ran his finger over a silver tea kettle, and it screamed. Regulus jumped back, covering his ears. He saw Cissa scurry out of the painting, disappearing. Fumbling in his robes, he managed to extract his wand, quickly casting a charm to silence the kettle, and made a mental note not to go around touching random things. They were, after all, looking for an extremely cursed object. 

For such a large kitchen, its contents were surprisingly scarce. He did find the family silver, and his fingers itched with the urge to take it -- but a moment later he remembered the way his mother had lusted over it, and something sour coiled in his gut. He shut the drawer with more force than was strictly necessary, sending the silverware rattling loudly inside.

“Hey!” Cissa protested, apparently having returned to the room. When he failed to respond, she huffed, but said nothing, just watching him. 

He gave up on the kitchen -- it’s not like Bella would hide anything important there anyway, it was usually full of elves -- and headed for Uncle Cygnus’s study instead. Books lined the walls, but Regulus knew better than to touch those. He headed for the desk instead; there was a quill, a bottle of ink, and his watch, laid out in a little box. Saved for Bella’s second son, probably, or Cissa’s, not that either of them would be having one at this point. The rest of the desk was empty -- completely empty, even the hidden compartments underlying several of the drawers. Regulus frowned as he rifled through them again. 

“The Ministry people took it all, last time they were here,” Cissa informed him, from the edge of a sparkling blue lake. “You won’t find anything.”

“Thank you,” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure she was telling the truth. 

“I’m not  _ helping _ you. I’m just telling you that you’re not going to find what you’re looking for.” Regulus got up from the desk and started poking at the bookcase, searching for hidden compartments. “If it’s so important, how come no one from the family is helping you?”

Regulus paused where his hand was hovering over a copy of  _ Magick Moste Evile _ . It was a terrible idea to get her involved, but maybe..? He didn’t know all of the secrets of this house, after all, not the way that someone who had lived here did.

He checked his watch. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked, and Cissa smiled.

“Of course,” she said, in a tone of voice that Regulus knew meant that she absolutely would not. That was fine; of course she wasn’t going to keep the secret of a man she’d never met. Her favorite cousin, on the other hand… 

“Dumbledore thinks I’m working with him, but I’m not,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t see through his lie; she had always been perceptive. “I’m trying to get to this object before he does.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Give me three minutes and you’ll understand,” he said. “But you can’t tell anyone about this, not even the other portraits. It has to remain a secret.”

Cissa crossed her arms, clearly not believing him. “Alright,” she said, and waited. He sat in the chair across from Uncle Cygnus’s, glancing down at his watch over and over, until after a few minutes the Polyjuice wore off and his body reverted to its normal state. Cissa stared at him a moment before realization dawned in her eyes.

“ _ Oh _ ,” she said. “Oh, Reg, you’re all grown up.” She smiled at him, and for some inexplicable reason he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“Hey, Cissa,” he said.

“I --” she frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I’ve seen you like this before, haven’t I?” she asked.

“You have. But that was years ago.” Time was different when you weren’t alive; memory was, too. And when all of the life left a home, but the portraits stayed -- it was even harder for them then. “I need your help.”

Cissa smiled brightly at him. “Of course,” she said, and this time she meant it.

“I need to know where Bella would’ve hidden something -- something important. I need to get it before Dumbledore does. And you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Okay,” she huffed. “Something important… There’s a secret compartment underneath the floor in her bedroom, but I don’t know if she would use that now that she’s an adult. Mother has a box in her room that’s pretty well guarded, and there’s always the secret room behind the theater. Just ask the actors, they’ll let you in. Oh, Reg, it’s so good to see you. Bella never visits anymore.”

Regulus smiled up at her. She was different from the Narcissa he’d left behind, more carefree. He was sure it was miserable, being trapped at sixteen forever, but -- 

He’d missed every version of her. 

“I’ll visit,” he said, although he was pretty sure he was never going to set foot in this house again. He hoped not, anyway.

She beamed at him, and he looked away, drinking his potion to avoid her gaze.

“I’ll start with the theater,” he said. It was the room most familiar to him, out of the three she’d named, although he hadn’t realized there had been a room behind it.

He stepped inside, looking around. Curtains lined every wall but one -- he’d looked behind them once, and found murals, filled to the brim with props and costumes and set pieces. On the uncovered wall, there was a large, framed painting in which several people were lounging. It seemed as though they’d pulled out whatever set dressing was most comfortable to decorate the stage -- various mismatched couches and beds were arranged in a circle. 

One of them spotted Regulus and leapt to his feet. 

“An audience!” he said, and the others whirled around. “So sorry about the state of things, it’s been a long time since anyone has been here,” he explained, moving to the front of the stage as several black-robed people hurriedly started moving furniture out of the painting. “What would you like us to perform?  _ The Eighth Stone? The Warlock at the River _ ?  _ Wand of Elder _ ?”

“No, thank you,” Regulus responded, a small smile on his face. He’d always loved watching the actors perform. “I would like access to the adjacent room.” 

The actors glanced at each other. “As you wish,” the one in front said, looking disappointed, and the painting swung forward.

The room beyond was dark, wood-lined; countertops and high tables made up the majority of the area. There were cauldrons set up in various corners of the room, and he could see common potion ingredients on the nearest countertop. Not so common ones, too -- an entire countertop was dedicated to neatly sorted piles of bones, some of which looked suspiciously human. Regulus avoided reading the labels and moved on.

Aconite, knotgrass, books on potion-making, a shelf filled to the brim with bottles of potions and poisons, a cauldron with something crusted on its bottom. A goblet -- not Hufflepuff’s -- that was filled with a deep green potion that Regulus couldn’t identify. (Something stupis and reckless inside of him wanted to drink it.) Papers with notes and recipes, scattered over a table; a small silver key hidden among them that Regulus pocketed. A book on alchemy. No sign of Hufflepuff’s cup. Regulus sighed and stepped back into the theater.

A passable set had been erected on the stage in his absence.

“Thank you for letting me in,” Regulus said. 

“Of course! You’ll stay, won’t you? You’re just in time for a performance!”

“No, I --”

“What were you doing in there?” Cissa demanded, stepping onto the stage. She turned toward the actors. “I can’t believe you would let a stranger into that room!”

“Lady Narcissa,” the actor said, kissing her hand. She blushed furiously -- Regulus supposed this version of her didn’t have a Lucius to pine over. “I apologize, I didn’t realize. Only the family is supposed to know about that room, after all.” 

“Even so!” Cissa started, over-dramatic, and biting back a smile, Regulus turned and left the room.

A few hallways over, Cissa caught up to him, giggling. “So what was in there?” she asked.

“You don’t know?”

“Mother and Father don’t talk about it,” she huffed. “They won’t even tell me which of them used it.”

“It was a potion-making room.”

“That’s all? I was expecting something more interesting.”

Regulus raised his shoulder in a half-shrug. “It didn’t exactly look legal,” he said. “And from what I could see, they were experimenting. Perhaps they didn’t want anyone else learning their secrets.” He hovered at the doorway to Bellatrix’s old room, bracing himself for a moment before stepping in.

It looked gutted, completely void of personality. He wondered if it was Bella or the Ministry who did it. 

“Where did you say this compartment was?” he asked Cissa.

“Over there,” she replied, pointing at a patch in the floor that was slightly off. “Be careful, though, Bella’s bound to have some curses around it.”

“ _ Finite _ ,” he said, crouching down next to it.  _ Specta omnis _ revealed a more complex ward than a simple protection charm, and he settled onto the floor as he began to carefully undo it. 

“How’s Sirius?” Cissa asked after a few minutes. Regulus started, nearly losing concentration.

“He’s a blood traitor, Cissa. We don’t talk to him anymore,” he said, forcing his voice to be level.

“Oh,” she replied, and he didn’t have to look at her to know she was frowning. “I remember that now.” Painted after Andromeda left, but before Sirius did -- his brother would always be thirteen and innocent in the painting’s mind.

The ward unraveled, and Regulus pried open the compartment.

No cup -- just a black leather book. That could be useful, depending on what it contained. Regulus turned it over in his hands, starting to open it.

“Reg, stop!” His head whipped up, looking to Narcissa. “It’s her diary,” she explained. “I tried to read it once and I still have a scar.”

“Her diary,” he repeated. Maybe it had the location of the cup, or some other information to use against the Death Eaters. 

Cissa nodded. “I don’t think she’s written in it since school, though.”

Regulus dropped it back in the compartment. Whatever was inside of it was definitely not worth the curses she’d have placed in it.

He made his way to the master bedroom. He poked around, but there was nothing of note save his aunt’s vanity, which he didn’t really want to approach. He did anyway, examining an ornate hand mirror that rested on the table -- silver, inlaid with pearls, Aunt Druella’s favorite. 

“Are you a Muggle?” the mirror asked scornfully, and he nearly dropped it. “You have ugly Muggle eyes.”

“Thanks,” he said, snorting, and put it back down, running his fingers over the jewelry box instead. It had a lock, but there was already a key in it, and it opened easily. Pearls, pearls, pearls; he reached down to touch her favorite necklace and suddenly he was choking, unable to breathe -- he wrenched his hand away, gasping for air, and shut the box -- was there  _ nothing _ in this house that wasn’t cursed? He locked it and removed the little silver key, just for good measure. 

Looking at it, he was struck by its resemblance to the other key, the one he’d pulled from the potions room. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out -- side-by-side, they were identical, but --

He slid the other key into the lock, opening the jewelry box.

Inside were papers -- damning papers, letters to Bellatrix from the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. Ones that plotted their future moves -- well, what had been the future -- and ones that chronicled their past deeds. It was undoubtedly enough to convict some of the Death Eaters who’d escaped Azkaban, if Dumbledore presented it.

It was, undoubtedly, enough to convict Lucius.

“Find anything?” Cissa asked from across the room.

He didn’t like Lucius. He never had. But Cissa… 

_ This is the last thing I will ever do for you _ , he thought, lighting the papers on fire with the tip of his wand. “Nothing important. Just letters.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing conversations about Quidditch: is this what liking sports is like
> 
> Also (as always!) thank you for all your wonderful comments, they make my day.


	5. Interlude: Letters

Delivered July 18th to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place via blue and gold macaw.

_Regulus,_

_I thought you were dead -- we all did. You say you’re on our side. You tried to defend Harry, so I’ll believe you for now, but if you really defected, why didn’t you come to us? I’d say that faking your death seems extreme, but it doesn’t; vanishing for 15 years does. Where the hell have you been hiding? Why did you pick such a young body for your disguise? The job at Hogwarts -- was that because of me?_

_How am I supposed to believe you, Reg? You spent your whole life chasing this, and what -- you got scared and left? That’s not the same thing as being on our side. I need to know why you changed your mind. You said, in the forest, that you didn’t know how you lived. I need to know what happened to you._

_\-- Sirius_

Written July 18th; burned in the fireplace of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

_Dear Siri,_

_I did die. I went to my death, in an effort to kill the Dark Lord, and I woke up fourteen years later._ ~~_There are bits of his soul, horcruxes_~~ _I don’t know why it happened. I didn’t believe it at first. And yet, it was true; the war was over, and nearly everyone I’d known was dead or in prison. I went to Dumbedore for help, and a few days later you broke out of Azkaban. That’s when he offered me the job._

_You ask why I left._ ~~ _I saw things_~~ ~~_I did things_~~ ~~_Kreacher_~~ ~~_I couldn’t_~~ _The Dark Lord was cruel; I had always known this. I overlooked it, of course, because it was for the cause, and because for the most part his cruelty was directed at people I believed deserved it. I was wrong, Siri. The more time I spent in service of the Dark Lord, the more I realized that I couldn’t hate the people he was condemning -- not all of them, anyway._ ~~ _Muggleborns were one thing, but the hatred that my fellow Death Eaters had for other magical peoples_~~ _Bella has always terrified me, as you know, but I’d thought that she was an exception. Terrifying, monstrous, so the rest of us didn’t have to be. Our work could be clean. I was wrong. My friends grew up, becoming more cruel -- as the job needed._ _I watched_ _I was never cut out for this. I couldn’t do it. I was weak, and I was miserable, so I did what I could. I died, attempting to bring the Dark Lord down with me. It didn’t work._

_I swear to you, I am on your side._ ~~_I want to repair_ ~~_I hope you are safe._

_Sincerely,_

_R. A. B._

Delivered August 14th to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place via keel-billed toucan.

_Reg,_

_It’s funny -- even when I hoped you’d join us, I didn’t picture it like this. You as a Care of Magical Creatures professor isn’t something I thought I’d ever see, and Moony says that you’re close friends with Hagrid. Honestly, that sounds like an act to make yourself seem like less of a Death Eater, but Dumbledore and Moony insist that you’re trustworthy. We’ll see. Trustworthy men usually answer their mail._

_Since apparently my last letter’s questions were too hard for you, I’ll stick to simpler ones. How do you like Harry and his friends? I asked Harry about your class, and he said he was pretty sure you’d hated him. Stop treating him like that or I will make you. He also says that you get on well with Hermione, which is surprising. Didn’t know you were capable of fraternizing with Muggleborns. He did say that your other favorites are Longbottom and some Slytherin prick, so I suppose that’s pretty typical._

_I don’t know what you want from me._

_\--Sirius_

_P. S. Persephone and I are fine._

Written August 14th; burned in the fireplace of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

_Dear Sirius,_

_First of all, who is Persephone? To your other points -- Granger has a brilliant mind, and is enthusiastic about learning. She is also highly motivated, loyal, and has a strong moral compass. I am no longer a Death Eater. Her blood status does not bother me. Potter and Weasley spent half of a year ignoring her, their supposed best friend, because of a broomstick -- which she rightfully brought to McGonagall’s attention -- and a rat. Forgive me for not thinking too highly of them. As for the other students in their class that I favor, Longbottom is one of the most dedicated to the subject, and Zabini, while quiet, possesses both brilliance and self-control. Your godson, on the other hand, paid little attention to the lectures and was consistently getting into arguments with_ ~~ _Draco_~~ ~~_Malfoy_~~ ~~_another student_~~ _the Slytherins._

~~_I don’t know what I want from you, either_~~ ~~_You’re my brother_~~ ~~_I want you to_~~ ~~_There are so many things we need to talk about_~~ ~~ _I want to repair_~~ ~~_I wish that things had gone differently_~~ _I want_

Delivered August 29th to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place via rainbow macaw.

_Reg,_

_As I’m sure you’ve heard, there was a fucking Dark Mark above the Quidditch World Cup, where there were thousands of people -- Harry included. I don’t know if you’re trying to hide something or just being petty, but whatever it is, stop. I need answers. You’re on our side? Prove it._

_\--Sirius_

Written August 29th; burned in the fireplace of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

_Dear Siri,_

_I don’t know who did it. I don’t know why the Dark Lord’s forces are growing stronger, and I don’t know how to stop them. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. Isn’t it enough to know that I’m alive and that I’m with you? I tried to kill him, thinking I would die in the process. I woke up fourteen years later. That’s all you need to know._

_I can’t hear anything. If it’s in the paper, I know of it. If not, well… I’m trapped in here. All I’m good at is observing, and now I can’t even do that. So no, Siri, I can’t give you answers. I can’t tell you why I left, because it hurts; I can’t tell you what I did, because that is between myself and Dumbledore; and I can’t tell you about the Death Eaters, because I don’t know anything._

_I don’t know how to fix things between us, but I want to. I miss you. I always have, much as I’d tried to deny it. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your letters; I didn’t know what to say._

_Sincerely,_

_R. A. B._

Written September 5th; burned in the fireplace of Regulus’s bedroom at Hogwarts.

_Dear Siri,_

_I apologize for not answering your letters. The truth is, I didn’t know what to say. Potter and his friends questioned me today, as I'm sure you will probably find out. It reminded me of the way things were._

_I suppose there are things that you want to know. I'm not sure if you'll like the answers. I defected 15 years ago. I thought I was sacrificing myself to kill the Dark Lord, but I woke up a year and a half ago and realized I'd lived. I went to Dumbledore, and he gave me this job._

_Forgive me for not writing. I wasn't sure how to communicate what I wanted to with you. I want to be your brother again. I don't know if I ever stopped wanting that, even when we were on opposite sides of the war. I realize now that ignoring your letters is immature and accomplishes nothing; forgive me for that._ _~~How am I supposed to solve~~ _

Delivered September 8th to Regulus Black, via Harry Potter.

_Write me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can have an interlude. As a treat.  
> Next week's chapter will be posted on Tuesday instead of Monday, just fyi.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Regulus has some reavalations, ft. everyone's favorite dog.

“Hagrid,” Regulus called, knocking on the door to his hut. There was no response, but he could hear noises inside. “Rubeus!”

Still nothing. Sighing, Regulus pulled his wand out of his robes. “ _ Alohamora _ ,” he muttered. “I’m coming in!” he called, pushing open the door.

Hagrid sat with his back to the door. “Go away,” he said roughly. 

Regulus’s eyes scanned the room. The miniature Norwegian Ridgeback was crawling on the table, climbing over dirty dishes, and as Regulus looked around, Fang came bounding across the room to meet him. He pulled off his gloves, reaching down to pat Fang on the head. 

“It’s been three days,” he said flatly. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk abou’,” Hagrid said, still not facing Regulus. 

“ _ Rubeus _ .”

“Go away! Yeh know wha’ I am now. I don’t know why yeh’re even here.” 

Regulus huffed out a breath. “Hagrid, don’t be ridiculous.”

Hagrid was silent. And -- okay, so he had a point. Since Skeeter’s article had come out and revealed his status as a half-giant, Regulus had heard… unpleasant things from some of the students, to say the least. Regulus’s own feelings on the matter were -- confusing, and he’d spent the last few days oscillating between opinions before deciding it really didn’t matter. Hagrid was his friend. 

“What do you think this is going to change?” he asked. “The people who won’t accept this didn’t exactly like you before. You already stood out too much.”

“‘S not --” Hagrid stopped, finally turning to face Regulus. He looked a mess, his hair matted and his face blotchy from crying. “‘S not people like Malfoy I’m worried ’bout. But people from good wizardin’ families, ones who don’t believe in all that pureblood nonsense, they hate giants too. Sided with You-Know-Who in the war, didn’ they? An’ now they’re sayin’ me mum did, too… I don’ blame ’em for hatin’ me.”

“Did she?” he asked carefully, trying to ignore the fact that he had not only sided with the Dark Lord but devoted himself to him. He’d defected -- he’d  _ changed _ . 

Hagrid’s shoulders slumped. “I dunno. She left me dad when I was only three… thought she mighta left the country before the war started, but maybe he brought her back…”

“If you weren’t raised by her, what does it matter? Everyone has bad family members,” he said, and he wondered who, exactly, he was talking about. Cissa? Bella? Andromeda and Sirius? “That doesn’t necessarily reflect on you.”

“But… yeh didn’ even know who I was. Yer my friend, and yeh didn’t know.” 

“Of course I knew who you were,” he said, and Hagrid started. “I mean -- not that you were a half-giant,” he clarified. He’d had suspicions, but he had heard so many rumors about Hagrid’s size it was difficult to determine which was true. “But that’s not the point. You weren’t lying. Not knowing your past didn’t mean we didn’t know  _ you _ . Your actions, your personality -- you weren’t lying about that.”

_ Keep telling yourself that _ , he thought.  _ You know he’ll hate you when he finds out _ .

It was just that -- since Bella’s house, he’d been  _ thinking _ . He was done with his old life, forever, completely, done with Cissa and the others. But who did that leave him with? The only person who knew that he was, well, himself, was Remus. Hagrid was willing to accept the world’s hatred on the off-chance that his mother had worked with You-Know-Who; Aurora prized Potter’s invincibility, much as she hated to admit it; and Regulus Black used to be a Death Eater, and had been lying to them this whole time. 

Hagrid sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeh don’t understand, yer not a half-giant. I should just quit and be done with it.”

“Rubeus,” he began. “Rubeus, m-- you’re being ridiculous,” he said again. “Some people will judge you for this, yes, but it’s part of you. You can’t -- it’s not something you can change. You can’t hole yourself up in here just because of some article.”

“Wha’ if she’s right? Fur all I know, me mum coulda been workin’ with You-Know-Who. Wha’ if I do take after her?”

“Rubeus, my--” Regulus started, unable to finish the sentence. He ground his teeth together, taking a deep breath. “My parents were big supporters of th-- of You-Know-Who,” he admitted, sitting down at the table. Not the whole truth, but truth enough for now. 

“Really?” Hagrid asked, staring at him in shock. “I never woulda guessed.”

Regulus fought back a wince. “We are only as much of our parents as we choose to be,” he said, and hoped against hope it was true. 

“Yeah… yeah,” Hagrid said, looking down at his hands. A faint smile appeared on his face. “Me dad, yeh know… he was a good man. Passed away in me second year. He was always sayin’ teh never be ashamed. ‘There’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with,’ that’s wha’ he used teh say.” He paused, still looking down, then added in a quieter voice, “Wha’ if no one else agrees with yeh, though?”

Regulus frowned. “You mean no one’s come to visit since the article came out?”

“Nah, Harry an’ Ron an’ Hermione have bin down here… didn’ let ’em in, though… guess I shoulda.” He smiled up at Regulus. “Yer right, yeh and me dad both. Shouldn’ta let that article bother me.”

“I’ll let them know they can visit again, if you want,” Regulus offered. 

Hagrid shook his head. “Nah, I’ll send Harry a letter… guess I owe him an apology. I really hope he wins,” he added. “It would be great, yeh know… the underdog, beatin’ ’em all… after all he’s bin through, he deserves it.”

“I’m rooting for him,” Regulus said, mostly truthfully. “I suppose we’ll see in the next task.” 

“Whatever it is, he can handle it,” Hagrid said confidently. 

Regulus hoped that was true. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, these days.

The morning of the second task, Regulus woke up with a knot in his stomach. He started his day early, scarfing down a meager breakfast and heading into the Forbidden Forest, mechanically feeding the thestrals and chasing pests away from the mooncalves’ burrows. Regulus had been informed that the task was at nine thirty at the lake, which left him a little under an hour of trying not to think about it after he finished his duties. He wondered if there was anything else he could do in the meantime. 

He sighed, running a hand over his eyes. He supposed he should just head back to Hagrid’s hut, even if that would come with an excessive amount of talk about Potter. Anything was better than waiting, even if only barely. 

He headed back through the forest, his feet finding the path instinctively. He heard a twig snap behind him, but dismissed it automatically; he’d been down this path a hundred times, and this part of the forest was safe. He wondered what Potter would be facing -- it wasn’t creatures or he would’ve been consulted, so perhaps it had to do with the lake itself? But then --

“Regulus,” he heard from behind him, and he whipped around, pulling out his wand. 

“Sirius,” he breathed. 

His brother looked -- terrible, honestly. He was still wearing the same dirty robes he had been last time they’d met, and his hair was long and tangled. 

He also looked furious. 

“What are you doing here?” Regulus hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Since when have you cared about that?” Sirius growled, and Regulus flinched. “I need answers.”

“ _ Mad-Eye Moody _ is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Siri, he will  _ kill you _ \--”

“He’s going to be at the second task, not traipsing around the Forbidden Forest for no reason.  _ Answers _ .”

“Fine,” Regulus bit out. He wouldn’t deny that seeing Sirius here, in person, alive, sent relief coursing through him, and part of him wanted to keep that feeling -- but the sooner Sirius left, the sooner he would be safe. “What do you want to know?”

“You got my letters, didn’t you? You know what I want to know.”

“Fine,” he said again, with less heat. “I tried to kill him. I thought I died, but instead I woke up in another decade. I didn’t -- fake my death, or anything.” 

“Moony filled me in on that much. Well,” he added with a scoff, “not the trying to kill Voldemort. I didn’t think you’d be that idiotic.”

Regulus ground his teeth together, torn between wanting to scream and jinx him. Merlin, he was infuriating. 

“Yes, well,” Regulus said, his voice icy. “Obviously it didn’t go very well.”

“Why didn’t you --” Sirius began, cutting himself off with a frustrated growl. “Merlin, you’re such an idiot sometimes. Why didn’t you come to us instead of trying to  _ kill Voldemort _ ?”

“It’s not that simple,” Regulus snapped. “He -- ugh.” How much could he say? Dumbledore almost certainly didn’t want anyone else to know about the horcruxes; it was too much of a risk. Part of him wanted to tell Sirius anyway, and a different part of him wanted to keep it a secret for less-than-noble reasons. This was  _ his _ . “He has a weakness that no one knows about -- and don’t you dare ask, Dumbledore knows but I can’t tell you -- and I knew that the Order wasn’t safe and I needed to act fast, before he found out I was a traitor or knew about his secret. I didn’t want to go through a million interrogations to get on the Order’s good side only to be rejected and have my movements reported back to the Dark Lord anyway.” 

Sirius was silent, staring at him with his arms crossed. “You could’ve -- you knew that I wasn’t the spy, you -- whatever,” he spat. “The Quidditch World Cup?” he prompted.

“He’s growing stronger,” Regulus said. “I don’t know anything else.”

Sirius sighed in frustration. “Okay,” he said, looking Regulus in the eyes. “Did you put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire?”

Regulus blinked, his brain stumbling for a moment over the accusation. “Wh --  _ no _ ,” he said vehemently. “He’s a child. I would  _ never _ hurt him.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment before closing his eyes and sighing, his shoulders slumping. “I believe you,” he said, and Regulus felt relief crashing in his chest. “ _ Fuck _ , Reg, I believe you. So,” he said after a moment, his demeanor significantly less hostile than before. “Care of Magical Creatures?”

“Dumbledore hired me after you escaped. It was… pretty awful at first. The only thing keeping me sane was thinking you were innocent, honestly,” Regulus said, letting out a hollow laugh.

“I don’t see why that would’ve helped you,” Sirius said drily. “It’s not like you cared all that much about me before.”

Regulus stared at him, disbelief and anger welling up in his chest. “Obviously I cared about you, you prick, you -- you’re my brother.”

“Not according to dear old Mum,” Sirius drawled. “And you did a great job of showing your affection, really, refusing to talk to me for  _ years _ except to occasionally insult me or remind me how much I was ruining the family name. Coudn’t send one fucking letter, could you, not then  _ or _ now --”

“ _ You _ left  _ me _ ,” Regulus hissed. “ _ Not _ the other way around, so don’t talk to me about --”

“I couldn’t stay in that house and you know it,  _ Reggie _ ,” he said, the last word like iron. “I would’ve taken you with me if I could, but you were too busy being the precious perfect son to --” He cut himself off and froze, suddenly tense. Regulus looked around wildly, and after a moment he heard it, a crunching in the leaves --

“Hey, um -- oh  _ shit _ ,” said Charlie Weasley, coming into view and then immediately jumping backward. “Are you always hanging around omens of death, or am I just going to die soon?” he asked, laughing nervously, and Regulus followed his gaze to where a Grim now stood in place of his brother.

Regulus shrugged a shoulder. “A little bit of both,” he said, smiling. “He’s friendly, don’t worry.” He took a few steps and reached over, patting Sirius on the head to prove his point. He growled slightly, a low, rumbling thing, but didn’t pull away. Charlie raised his hand, wiggling his fingers at Sirius in a wave. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hagrid was wondering where you went, so I volunteered to come looking for you,” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Regulus was pretty sure he could see a blush forming on Charlie’s cheeks, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with that information. “The second task looks like it’s going to be really boring to watch, anyway, so I figured it wouldn’t be a huge loss if I missed the beginning. I hope I’m not bothering you?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Regulus said, a little too quickly. “I was just heading out there, actually.”

“Oh, good,” Charlie said, smiling. “Perce keeps trying to talk to me about his boss, and if I have to hear one more comment about how  _ diligent _ Mr. Crouch is I might jump into the lake.”

“Sounds grating,” Regulus replied, walking to Charlie’s side. They started heading out of the forest, Sirius padding gently behind them. 

Charlie shrugged. “I’m happy for him, of course. If he likes his job even half as much as I like mine, he’s lucky. Doesn’t stop him from being annoying as all hell, but you know, brothers.” He paused, frowning slightly. “Do you have any?” 

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say no  _ so badly _ , because Sirius was here, risking his life to what -- get in a shouting match with Regulus? He was just being -- just --  _ so _ annoying. On the other hand, he didn’t want to lie to Charlie, and if he said that in front of Sirius… well, Sirius had been burned off the tapestry; he might get some stupid idea that Regulus meant it. 

So he swallowed his pettiness and said, “Just one, but we’re not all that close.”

Charlie glanced over at him, taking in his expression, and mercifully didn’t push. “Yeah, I get that. Bill has the best relationship with everyone else, I think, but half of the time I have no idea what’s going on with Ronnie. And Perce and I used to talk more, but…” He shrugged again. “Anyway, what have you been up to since the first task?”

“Not much, just school,” he said, because he couldn’t very well say  _ searching for horcruxes _ . "And the ball, I suppose."

"Right! I heard about that," Charlie said, sounding delighted. "Did Ronnie take anyone? Did he  _ dance _ ?"

"You're not going to ask about the twins?" Regulus asked, smiling despite himself. 

"I'm sure they did just fine. Those two and Bill got all the charisma in the family, honestly."

"You're quite charming, too," Regulus replied without thinking. A moment later the implication of his words hit him and he flushed, wanting to take it back but unsure of how to change his words. 

The edge of Charlie's mouth quirked up. "I'm glad you think so," he said, his voice a touch lower than before. 

Regulus looked away, clearing his throat. "I think he brought Padma Patil with him, but I didn't see them dancing. Admittedly, I wasn't paying all that much attention. Potter definitely went with her sister, though." 

"I'm surprised neither of them went with Hermione."

"You didn't hear? She went with Krum." 

Charlie stopped in the middle of the path, and Regulus took the moment to look around, noticing that Sirius had left them. "You're  _ joking _ . Ronnie's best friend went to a ball with one of the greatest Seekers in the history of Quidditch?" 

"Well, his other best friend is the boy who lived, so maybe he just has a type." 

“Maybe,” Charlie agreed. “Damn, where was all this cool shit when I was in school? Triwizard Tournament… Vicktor Krum… the most interesting thing we got was our fifth year Defense teacher being tossed around by the giant squid.”

“Oh?” Regulus asked.

“He got it into his mind that he should demonstrate some offensive spells on it, never mind that the thing’s perfectly friendly. Naturally, it didn’t like that all that much.”

Regulus felt a stab of anger in his gut as he pictured it. He’d never interacted with the squid, personally, but he’d seen it pass by the Slytherin common room so many times that some part of him thought of it as theirs. Everything glorious and beautiful had belonged to Slytherin, before he’d learned better.

“It wouldn’t, no,” he said softly. “Did they tell you what the task is going to be? We were only told to go to the lake.”

“Someone each of the champions cares about was kidnapped, they need to rescue them from the bottom of the lake. We don’t have any way of seeing this, so it seems like it’ll be the whole crowd just standing by the lakeside for an hour.” 

Regulus frowned. “That sounds exceptionally boring,” he said.

Charlie shrugged, throwing him a grin that made his stomach do backflips. “At least there’s good company.”

The crowds had already become restless by the time they reached the lake; evidently, they’d missed the beginning of the task. Hagrid was easy to spot, towering over the other figures even when seated. He seemed to have saved room for the two of them, as there was space beside him despite the crowd. They slipped in easily, Charlie exchanging a few words with McGonagall and Flitwick as they passed them.

“Yeh missed the beginnin’,” Hagrid explained when they got there, looking worried. “The other champions all did somethin’ magical, but Harry jus’ sorta walked in… Flailed around a bit, first.”

“Well, if he hasn’t come back up, I’m sure he’s got it handled,” Regulus replied, and Hagrid nodded and moved on.

They talked. Charlie tended to gesture as he spoke; Regulus noticed only because their arms brushed each time he motioned. Was he so close because of the crowds, or because he wanted to be? It was necessity -- it had to be necessity -- except hadn’t he been close before, back in the tavern, close enough that Regulus could feel the heat radiating from his body? The problem was that ever since the thought had entered his mind, Regulus couldn’t stop  _ thinking about it _ . 

Eventually, the conversation turned to dragons -- Regulus wasn’t sure any conversation between the three of them could avoid the topic for long. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure any conversation with Charlie and Hagrid could avoid the topic -- he was pretty sure that he was an unnecessary part of the equation. 

“I mean, they’ve got their heartstrings,” Charlie was saying, holding up his wand. “They’re so good at channeling magic for our purposes because that’s what they do for dragons, too. Obviously, their insides are designed for breathing fire, and their wings are designed for flying -- but if a nonmagical creature was designed in exactly the same way, they couldn’t do it. Essentially, they are casting a spell or combination of spells each time they breathe fire or fly,” he said. It was all information that Regulus had heard before, but it sounded so much better in Charlie’s voice. No, not his voice -- it was the way he said it, like he both knew and cared. “Anyway, back in the third or fourth century, some clever bloke -- don’t ask me his name, I don’t remember -- got it into his head that he should train a dragon to perform all sorts of spells, a Welsh Green. Of course, they’re not sentient, so the first problem was figuring out how. He decided that the best way was to teach them to do spells the same way we learn, movement and incantation, nevermind the fact that that’s not how  _ they _ cast. And that they can’t speak. He thought he’d start with  _ Spongify _ , I think -- you know, a basic charm, theoretically easy -- and after more than a year, he managed to train the dragon to do a sort of dance that would end up moving its heart the same way we would do the wand movement. So, naturally, he moved on to the speech aspect. 

“He started with a jarvey. He thought that the best way to get the dragon to learn would be to show other creatures getting rewarded for their speech. But -- well, you know what little shits jarveys are, it spent more time insulting him than it did listening to him. Partway through the process, he realized that the dragon physically couldn’t make those noises anyway, so he started modifying its vocal cords until he was satisfied that it could. He ditched the jarvey idea, and instead he _ hired an acromantula _ .”

“Hired?” asked Regulus incredulously. 

“O’ course,” Hagrid cut in gruffly. “Gentle creatures, acromantulas… easy teh reason with…”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it gentle,” Charlie said, amusement tinging his voice. “This wizard essentially gave it a human sacrifice for every week it was in his service. And the thing was, despite all odds, it worked. The acromantula actually ended up bonding with the dragon, which helped it to learn better. Eventually, it was able to say  _ Spongify _ on command.”

“Did the spell work?”

“Oh, the dragon died,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. “It sort of backfired, turned most of its insides to mush. Probably a good thing, as sad as it is. Even  _ I _ wouldn’t want dragons flying around with an arsenal of spells. Trying to mess with dragons’ magic was banned right after that experiment.”

“He must’ve been pretty disappointed,” Regulus responded. 

Charlie shook his head. “The acromantula ate him following the incident. Obviously no one knows why, but I like to think it was grief or anger rather than pure opportunism.” 

“O’ course it was! Never met somethin’ more loyal than an acromantula, tha’s fer sure.”

“Wait,” Charlie said, his head whipping toward Hagrid. “You’ve  _ met _ an acromantula?”

Hagrid tugged nervously at his beard. “Course not… figure o’ speech… jus’ things I’ve heard…”

Charlie turned his wide-eyed look on Regulus, who offered him a half-shrug and a smile. Hagrid had mentioned an acromantula before -- several times, in fact. He’d thought it prudent not to ask.

Hagrid was spared from further interrogation by the surfacing of the first champion, Delacour. She made her way to the beach, looking utterly distraught. The other champions came a few minutes later -- Diggory, Krum, and then finally Potter, dragging with him not one but two bodies. The crowd leapt to its feet each time one emerged, screaming and shouting. Maybe, Regulus reflected, it would’ve been more interesting if he’d seen the start. He doubted it, though.

“I suspect that wasn’t nearly worth coming back to Scotland,” he said to Charlie later, as they made their way across the grounds from the lake.

“Maybe not,” Charlie admitted. “It’s always good to come back, though. Hey,” he added, stopping and turning to face Regulus. “Do you want to get a drink? With me?” he asked, just enough nervousness in his tone that Regulus was nearly certain that it wasn’t a strictly platonic invitation.

Of all the times to have some -- some stupid crush on a boy -- and of all the  _ people _ , a  _ Weasley _ \-- 

And Charlie was interested in him, too. Why did he have to be into someone who  _ reciprocated _ ?

“I can’t,” he said, because there were a thousand reasons this could not happen. “I’m really behind in my work, I can’t spare tonight.” And then, his stupid, traitorous mouth said, “But you’ll be back for the third task, right?” 

Charlie offered him a smile. “Yeah, I will. I’ll see you then?”

“I look forward to it,” Regulus replied, and tried not to think about how true that was.

The next couple weeks were filled with nothing but Regulus’s own racing thoughts. There was Sirius, and there was Charlie; they weren’t  _ new _ dilemmas, but after the second task it was harder and harder to get them out of his head. And when he did, thoughts of other things -- worse things -- crept in. Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, the Dark Mark, Potter’s name in the goblet. Horcruxes. Moody. The only thing he could even consider talking about with someone was whatever was going on with him and Charlie -- which was  _ nothing _ and was going to stay nothing -- but he quickly dismissed the idea. He was pretty sure Aurora would figure it out even if he was as vague as possible.

It was almost a relief when Potter and his friends came bursting into his office on a Friday night. Ron immediately shut the door behind them as the other two made their way to his desk.

“Can I help you?” Regulus asked.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Granger asked, looking rather frazzled. 

“We overheard Karkaroff and Snape talking during the ball,” Potter said. “And Karkaroff burst into our Potions class today demanding to talk to Snape, said he’d been avoiding him. And then he showed him something on his arm --”

Regulus flinched so violently that he knocked over a bottle of ink. So much for a distraction from his problems. Potter narrowed his eyes. “So you  _ do _ know something.”

Regulus waved his wand to clean up the spill, watching as the ink crawled back into the bottle. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice level. 

“How do Snape and Karkaroff know each other? What was on his arm? Why is he so worried?” Potter demanded.

“They were Death Eaters together,” Regulus said. The children gaped. “The mark on our -- their arms is the Dark Mark. The Da -- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can use it to summon his followers, and vice versa.”

“Snape was a Death Eater?” Granger asked.

“You can’t be  _ that _ surprised,” said Ron, recovering quickly. “I mean, it’s  _ Snape _ .”

“Still! Dumbledore trusts him --”

“Well, he trusts Regulus, too, so --”

“I am sure,” Regulus cut in, “that Snape did something significant to earn Dumbledore’s trust. He’s… be careful around him, but I don’t think he’s the one you have to look out for.” Regulus frowned. “I don’t know why Karkaroff would be showing him the mark, though. It seems like a strange move.”

“He said it was getting clearer,” Potter said. 

“He -- what?” Regulus asked. Getting clearer? He itched to check his arm, but in this body it wouldn’t be there anyway.

“Shouldn’t you have one, too?” asked Ron, eyeing his sleeve.

“I do, but most of the time I’m in this body, and even when I’m not I tend to avoid looking at it,” he admitted. “I haven’t noticed it getting clearer, but if it is that would indicate that the Dark Lord is growing in power.” There was a pause; Regulus had expected more shock, perhaps fear, but Potter looked utterly unsurprised by the information and his friends only looked mildly disturbed. “...is this not news to you?” he added.

“Er,” Potter said, scratching the back of his head. “The tournament, remember? It’s not as though I think Flitwick’s trying to kill me.”

He was lying -- Regulus was  _ certain _ he was lying. “Is there anything else?” he asked carefully. Granger looked at Potter meaningfully, glancing strongly in Regulus’s direction.

“No,” Potter said.

Regulus looked between the three of them, but they were silent. “Whatever it is,” he said slowly, “I hope you’ve at least told Sirius or Dumbledore.”

The three of them glanced at each other. “I have,” said Potter carefully.

“Wonderful,” Regulus replied, more sharply than intended. He hated not knowing things. Then again, Granger had wanted to tell him, and she’d gone behind Potter’s back before; if he could ask her when she was alone, maybe she would tell him. Ugh, but Siri might kill him if he found out. On the other hand, it was for the boy’s protection, so --

“Are you going into Hogsmeade tomorrow?” Potter asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, why?”

“No reason,” he answered, and Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Oh, um, Sirius said that we’re supposed to refer to him as Snuffles when we’re talking among ourselves, so I thought you should probably know that.”

“Snuffles,” he repeated flatly. 

Granger nodded emphatically. “We don’t want to get caught talking about him as him, after all.”

“He couldn’t have picked a human name?” Regulus asked. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. He’s meeting you in Hogsmeade, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Potter admitted.

“Well,” said Regulus -- half wanting to demand to go with them and half wanting to demand they stay -- “tell him I say hi.”

They came back the next night with a note.

_Meet me at the stile past Dervish and Banges, 10 AM tomorrow_ , it read. _Bring food. --S_ _P.S. I want to see your face_.

Tomorrow, then.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which many things happen, feat. several people.

In the sunlight, Sirius looked less like an omen of death and more like an oversized stray. It helped, of course, that he was sitting back on his hind paws as Regulus approached, head cocked to the side curiously. One of his ears stuck straight up as the other flopped down; he was downright cute like this, despite his enormous stature. Upon seeing Regulus, he got to his feet and bounded away, glancing behind himself every so often to make sure he was still being followed. Regulus trailed him as he trotted a winding path up the mountain, and he soon felt sweat dripping down his body. 

“You could’ve -- told me -- to bring a broom,” he panted, glaring at Sirius. He turned around, snorted, and continued his path up the mountain, tail wagging. “Prat,” Regulus muttered, but followed anyway.

Eventually, Sirius led him to a cave. Regulus looked around, taking it in:; there were suspicious stains and old newspapers littering the floor, and there was a small stockpile of food. Over in the corner was a thestral -- the one Sirius had escaped on, evidently. Dropping his bag of food, Regulus beelined for the thestral, reaching up to stroke its beak. It snuffled appreciatively, recognizing him, and immediately started poking at his clothes in search of food. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m pretty sure most of that food is for him.”

“I’ll share with Persephone,” Sirius said, human again. “I assumed you’d want to take her back, though.”

“You named her?” Regulus shook his head. “She’d be better off in the herd, but her appearance would be too obvious. A thestral vanishing is confusing but not altogether suspicious. That same one reappearing months later is.”

He turned, finally facing his brother. Sirius was staring at him, arms crossed, a guarded expression on his face.

“I brought you new robes,” Regulus said, wanting to break the silence. Sirius looked momentarily surprised, but reached down to rummage through the bag.

“Thanks,” he said. He pulled them out, holding them up to himself before putting them aside and reaching for the food.

“They might not fit --”

“So Snape’s a Death Eater, huh? I mean, it’s not really surprising, he always was a shit, but I don’t understand how -- I just don’t know why Dumbledore would ever hire someone like him.”

“He hired  _ me _ ,” Regulus replied testily. 

“You’re different,” he said. “Sit,” he added before Regulus could reply, settling onto the ground. Regulus looked around, wrinkling his nose, but eventually lowered himself to the ground as well. “Just start from the beginning. Why you left, how you… died.”

Regulus looked at him -- really looked at him. He looked so much older and more tired than the Sirius he remembered. There was worry in his face, but more than that there was resignation.

“I wasn’t -- I knew what I was signing up for, obviously. But I didn’t  _ really _ know. I thought -- I don’t know. Fi, Evan,” he began, not looking at Sirius; as much as he hated them he still loved them so much, and he wasn’t sure he could handle whatever Sirius’s reaction would be. “They adapted. I didn’t. I believed in the mission, but I wasn’t cut out for the job. I started doubting more and more, and then -- something happened, and it tipped me to the other side.”

“What happened?”

“It…” Regulus hesitated, knowing exactly how his brother was going to react. “It involved Kreacher.”

Sirius scoffed. “Of course it did,” he said bitterly. 

“For someone whose side claims to promote interspecies unity, you’re awfully cruel to him,” Regulus said coldly.

“I’ve got nothing against house-elves who aren’t nasty little -- ugh! I’m not trying to fight with you,” he growled, looking as though he very much wanted to. “How did you die?”

“I drowned,” he said flatly. Sirius didn’t need to know about the potion, or the inferi. 

“You drowned. How di -- you don’t know, right,” said Sirius, running a hand through his hair. 

They sat in silence. Regulus found himself drawing swirls in the dirt. How was it this difficult to talk to him? It used to be so easy. Even after that, when they were fighting -- at least they had things to say.

“What about your friends?” Sirius asked eventually. “What about  _ dear Cissy _ ?” he added, spitting out the last words like a curse.

Regulus set his jaw, looking away. “They’re dead, what does it matter? They stayed on our side, and I left,” he said. He’d confided in Fiona, in the beginning, when he first started having doubts. She had been sympathetic -- understanding, even. But she had never wavered in her devotion.

“And Narcissa? She lives. You teach her son, don’t you?”

“He’s a brat,” said Regulus, without much heat. “He’s nothing like her. But no, I obviously haven’t -- contacted her, or anything. I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Sirius exhaled, sounding frustrated, but didn’t clarify. “So, you --”

He cut himself off. It was easy to figure out why; the familiar bubbling and burning of Regulus’s Polyjuice Potion wearing off had begun. Regulus felt himself tense, and he looked back at Sirius, unsure of what his reaction would be. He looked deliberately neutral, his eyes scanning Regulus. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke.

“Moony wasn’t kidding, huh?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly, his face contorted into something almost tender. “Haven’t aged a fuckin day.” He rubbed his hands over his face, looking away. “You’re still just -- Merlin.”

“I missed you,” Regulus said softly.

Sirius’s face immediately morphed into a scowl. “Oh, fuck you,” he said. “I don’t want your bullshit Slytherin manipulation.”

“Wh --” Regulus spluttered. “It’s  _ true _ !” he said, embarrassingly high-pitched. 

“Maybe it is, but you only said it because you saw me getting -- emotional and you wanted to -- fucking -- capitalize on that!” he shot back.

Regulus let out a strangled, unintelligible noise from the back of his throat. “Or _maybe_ I thought my brother might care about me for once and I -- ugh! Not everyone is out to get you, you _insufferable_ _prick_ ,” he said, his voice getting louder with each word. “Why did you even call me here, if -- forget it,” he snapped, rising.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Sirius said lowly. Regulus stared at him, torn. The rational part of his brain told him he would probably regret leaving now, but  _ Merlin _ , Sirius was just so -- so -- infuriating. 

Sirius looked away. “I’m sorry,” he bit out. “Stay.”

“Fine,” Regulus huffed, flopping back down onto the ground. 

“So,” Sirius said, after a while. “What do you know about what’s happening with the Death Eaters?”

“Nothing,” Regulus admitted. “It’s not like I have the contacts I used to. I know you think Igor is up to something, but I don’t think he would do it. He’s a coward, and right now it seems like he’s scared of the Dark Lord’s return.”

“Right,” said Sirius, nodding. “And that’s why he’s been bugging Snape.” He saw Sirius’s eyes flick to his arm. “The mark that the kids mentioned…”

“I’m not showing you,” he said immediately. “But it has been getting clearer.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask. Last year, in the shack… you looked at something on Peter’s arm.”

“It was the mark,” he confirmed. “I suspect he was granted it after some major kill -- the McKinnons, maybe.”

“Or James and Lily,” Sirius said softly. 

“It… yes, that seems likely,” Regulus said awkwardly. He coughed slightly. “Potter seems convinced it’s not him. I think it’s by far the most likely candidate to have put his name in the goblet, but evidently he disagrees.”

Sirius frowned. “He does seem very adamant about that. I think he’s hiding something, but… I don’t know,” he admitted. He shook his head. “Are there any other Death Eaters you think it could be? The ones that were active at the World Cup?”

Regulus shrugged a shoulder. “There’s no way of narrowing them down. Besides, none of them could have put it in.”

“You don’t think Malfoy’s kid could’ve done it?”

Regulus scoffed. “If he had a way of getting past the barrier, he would’ve taken the glory for himself. He’s not powerful enough, anyway. Of the Death Eaters who dodged Azkaban… I don’t think any of them could’ve gotten in. Macnair works in the Ministry, I suppose, but he’s a different department. I doubt he has enough sway to somehow do this.”

Sirius looked up sharply. “One of the Carrows was good at manipulating magical objects, weren’t they? Gid nearly got his nose bitten off by one of their cursed flagons.”

“It wasn’t her specialty, but as far as I’m aware Alecto was proficient,” he said, frowning. “But --”

“They could be working together, then. She finds a way to enchant the goblet somehow, using his contacts -- do any Carrows go to school? They could have been the ones to actually put the paper in.”

“Yes, Amycus’s twins do. Not that it matters,” he added, annoyed. “Alecto wouldn’t work with Macnair. They hate each other.”

Sirius waved a hand. “They’ve been fucking for years, Reggie, do catch up.”

“What -- you -- hh?” Regulus spluttered, staring at his brother. “You must be joking.”

Sirius smiled bitterly. “Not much to do in Azkaban except gossip.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Regulus said hotly, something he couldn’t quite place raging in his chest. “Your theory is logistically impossible.”

Sirius eyed him for a moment. “You’re right,” he said, huffing out a breath in frustration.

They lapsed into silence again, the only sounds being Persephone’s snorting and Sirius rolling a pebble back and forth across the ground. Regulus tried to pinpoint why, exactly, he was so bothered by the news of the Death Eaters’ liaison. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know that the world had moved on without him. It was just that he didn’t know what he had to offer anymore. The horcrux was defeated. His information about the Death Eaters was apparently painfully out of date, and now  _ Sirius _ of all people knew more than him. Perhaps the thought shouldn’t have disturbed him nearly as much as it did; Dumbledore was a merciful man, after all. Still -- it was what he did and who he was. He watched people. He knew things. And now… now the only information he could offer was on the best way to train a porlock.

“It’s weird that you’re friends with Moony,” Sirius declared abruptly. 

Regulus raised an eyebrow, quickly pulling himself out of his thoughts. “I make him a potion once a month, I’m not sure that qualifies as friendship.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “He says you’re friends, and I trust his version of friendship more than yours.”

Regulus huffed. “Regardless, I don’t see why it’s weird. It can’t be more strange than whatever’s happening with you two, anyway,” he added.

“He did mention you were prying into our relationship,” Sirius said bitterly. Regulus scowled; prying was  _ not _ the word he would’ve used. “It’s been thirteen years, twelve of which I was in Azkaban and he thought I was a mass murderer. We can’t very well just pick up where we left off. Besides,” he added, gesturing around the cave. “I’m still on the run.”

“Why are you staying here instead of with Remus, anyway? Shouldn’t you be trying to get away from Ministry officials, not staying close to them?”

“No one knows I’m an Animagus, so I’m perfectly safe. It was on Dumbledore’s suggestion that I stay here,” he said coolly. “I wanted to be close to Harry, with everything going on.”

“I  _ will _ protect him however I can,” Regulus said, looking Sirius in the eyes. He hadn’t liked James, he hadn’t been on their side, but he was being completely sincere about this; Sirius had to understand that. 

Sirius broke his gaze. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I know there are a lot of people who have his back in there, but I’m not willing to take any chances. I’m staying here just in case.”

“I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.”

Sirius snorted. “You’d better. Honestly, Reg, what the fuck? You couldn’t have said anything?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted. 

“You’re doing fine right now.”

“It’s different in person,” Regulus insisted. Sirius looked at him skeptically. “I tried, okay?” he snapped. “Just drop it.”

“Fine,” Sirius snapped. “Tell me about the kids.”

And they talked; for the first time in years, they talked, and it was almost like how it used to be. He started with Potter and his friends, and then the other students in their class, and then the other Weasleys. Children of their schoolmates, teachers -- they discussed Severus, but Regulus sidestepped the issue of Moody as much as he could. They avoided the past, and they avoided the future, but they were  _ talking _ . That was something.

By the time Regulus returned to the castle, it was night.

“Professor?”

Regulus looked up from his desk, frowning. Potter was standing at his doorway. This was not in and of itself unusual; in the nearly two months since he’d visited Sirius, the three students had begun coming to him more and more. What was unusual was the lack of people with him -- only Granger had ever really spoken to him without the other two present. Given that the last thing Potter had told him about was the mysterious appearance and subsequent disappearance of Barty Crouch, it was a bit worrying.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, gesturing for Potter to step inside. He did, shutting the door behind him. He looked… not worried, exactly, but thoughtful. “Is this about the third task?”

Potter shook his head. “When I was in Divination today,” he began, moving to sit across from Regulus, “I fell asleep. And I had a dream, and I, er, had to talk to Dumbledore about it.” Regulus raised an eyebrow, but Potter moved on without further explanation. He made a note to ask Sirius about it later. “Anyway, while I was up in Dumbledore’s office, I sort of… accidentally dipped my face into a bowl.”

“Accidentally?” Regulus asked. Undoubtedly, he was talking about the Pensive -- Regulus couldn’t imagine accidentally opening its cabinet and happening to fall in. 

“I saw some shapes in it and wanted to get a closer look,” he explained, looking embarrassed. “And I was wondering if you could tell me about some Death Eaters?”

Regulus froze. Of all the things Potter could’ve said, he hadn’t been expecting that. “I… suppose I can,” he said stiffly. “What memories did you see that prompted this?”

“Trials,” Potter responded. “Karkaroff’s, Bagman’s, and Crouch’s.”

“Bagman?” Regulus asked, frowning. 

“He was innocent,” Potter said quickly. “He wasn’t sent to Azkaban.”

Right -- Regulus remembered reading about that, vaguely. It was frustrating; when he’d gotten here he’d read up on everything he could about the time he’d lost, but it was still so hard to keep the facts straight. 

“So,” he said, dread pooling in his stomach, “what is it that you want to know?”

“I dunno,” Potter replied, his eyes downcast. “Just -- did you know Crouch?”

Regulus relaxed. “No, I didn’t. Not well, anyway. I met him briefly in school, but he was a couple years younger than I was. We ran in similar circles, but we were never close. I was gone by the time he joined the Dark Lord.”

“What about the other ones with him? The other Death Eaters convicted for -- er,” he said, looking guilty. “Dumbledore said I shouldn’t really be telling people.”

Regulus cocked his head. “Most people already know,” he said. “Certainly all of your teachers do. He was convicted for the torture of the Longbottoms, was he not?” he continued. He knew he was right, but part of him hoped he was wrong. Potter nodded. “The Lestranges, then. I went to school with Rastaban, but obviously I was much more familiar with Rudolphus. He was a bit of a pushover, to be perfectly honest. I think that’s what Bella liked about him.”

“Is Bella the woman who was with them?” Potter asked, his brows knitting together. Regulus nodded, trying not to wince. “Did you know her?”

Regulus stared. Sirius hadn’t -- no, that part made sense. Of course Sirius wouldn’t want to associate with her. Still, it was common knowledge, or common enough.  _ To wizards _ , he reminded himself. The boy had been raised by Muggles; of course he wouldn’t know this. 

“She’s one of our cousins,” he said.

Potter’s eyes grew comically wide. “You're related to her?  _ Sirius _ is related to her?”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus responded dryly. “She was always my least favorite cousin -- well, until Andromeda left,” he added, mostly to himself. It wasn’t that he hadn’t loved her, although he certainly didn’t now. It was more that he had loved, feared and admired her in equal measure. With Cissa it had been easy, and with Andy, distant though she was, he’d never had cause to fear.

“She looked…” Potter began, but trailed off, looking disturbed.

“She is arguably the Dark Lord’s most fanatic follower,” he said, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice. “She has had a penchant for cruelty since her childhood, and is extremely talented in the Dark Arts. Were she not in Azkaban, I would hope you were very, very afraid of her.”

“Were all your family Death Eaters? Except Sirius?”

Regulus shook his head. “Just Bella and myself. Andromeda was a blood traitor like Siri, and Narcissa preferred not to directly participate. Being married to Lucius, of course, she was still very involved --”

“Lucius?” Potter cut in loudly. “You’re related to the  _ Malfoys _ ?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Regulus answered. “Many of the older pure-blood families tend to marry into each other.”

“So he is a Death Eater, then? Malfoy’s dad?”

Regulus hesitated a moment before nodding. “He is, yes. Please don’t -- it would not be a good idea for you to attempt to use this information against Mr. Malfoy,” he said carefully. He coughed slightly. “Were there other things you wished to know?”

Potter eyed him for a moment, but let it drop. “Er, yeah. Just some other Death Eaters. Rookwood? And Travers and Mulciber?”

Regulus shook his head. “I didn’t know Rookwood at all. The other two I worked with, but didn’t particularly like, although Mulciber was incredibly talented.”

“Antonin Dolhov, I think?”

“We were briefly acquainted, but didn’t interact much. Most Death Eaters were prevented from knowing all of the names of their fellows,” he explained. Potter nodded. “Being related to much of the Dark Lord’s inner inner circle, I naturally heard of many more than I should have, but I didn’t know them well.”

“Oh,” Potter said.

“I’ll answer your questions the best I can, though,” he added.

“Er, okay,” said Potter. “I think the last one was Rosier. Evan, maybe?”

Regulus should’ve just turned him away at the door.

“Might I ask what information exactly you want from me?” he asked.

Potter perked up. “You knew him?”

Regulus stared at Potter, trying to decide what to do. He’d find out sooner or later; him and his friends were notoriously nosy, and he didn’t particularly want Sirius talking to them about Evan.

“He was one of my best friends,” he admitted. 

“Oh,” Potter said again, looking painfully awkward. “Sorry.”

Regulus smiled, but it came off more as a wince. “He is the reason I am not very fond of your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“Right,” said Potter.

“Was there anything else you wanted to know?” Regulus asked, steadfastly ignoring the stilted, uncomfortable atmosphere.

Potter hesitated. “Crouch just… he was so young and afraid,” he said. “I guess I just wanted to know if there were other Death Eaters like him, who had their whole lives ruined by Voldemort.”

Regulus opened his mouth, then closed it again. “There are,” he said. “I am a testament to that. Severus might be, too,” he added. “And Ev… he wasn’t always like that. Being a Death Eater changed him. But he knew what he was doing, Harry. We all did. We knew what we were signing up to become.”

“Do you think Crouch would’ve changed sides if he’d lived?” Potter asked quietly.

Regulus paused, uncertain of what to say. The boy looked genuinely torn up about it, but… “I don’t think so,” he admitted. “Anyone who can do what they did to the Longbottoms… Severus was cruel, too, though, so perhaps he could’ve.” Of course, Severus now spent his time tormenting children.

Potter seemed to have reached the same conclusion, if the twisted downturn of his lips was anything to go by. “I need to go,” he muttered, hands in his pockets. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter,” he said, watching him with concerned eyes.

Potter started to speak several times, but cut himself off. “G’night,” he finally said, and walked off, leaving Regulus feeling as though he’d missed something very important.

“Good night,” he replied to the empty room.

Regulus paced across the grass, weaving through the students as they frantically scribbled their essays. The first part of their exam had been a practical one, so they’d had to hold class outside, but now they had moved on to the written portion, which left Regulus with nothing to do but wander.

It was nice enough weather, at least. It would be perfect, he was sure, for the third task. He’d done everything he could to prepare Potter short of telling him what would be inside the maze; he was pretty sure he’d just go and tell the other champions immediately. Still, he was sure that Potter was much more prepared for this task than he had been the first one.

Something caught his eye, a group of students near the Whomping Willow. It was the last day of exams, but it was possible that they didn’t have any scheduled for this block. There was something else off about them, though, and as they drifted closer it became abundantly clear.

They weren’t students at all; they were, instead, a pack of red-headed adults. They moved closer, making their way across the grounds, and he recognized them -- Potter, accompanied by two strangers and Charlie. The woman, it was clear, was the Weasleys’ mother, but the other one… he assumed at first it was the father, but as they became clearer he realized the ages weren’t quite right. Bill, he concluded. The oldest one, who worked for Gringotts. It occurred to him suddenly that he knew far more about the Weasley family than he ever would have thought he would. He resumed his pacing, trying not to glance too much at the group. Instead, he looked over at Ginny, trying to see if she’d noticed them. Her eyes stayed glued to her paper. 

He wondered why they were here. At Potter’s behest, probably; only Charlie had access to the tournament through his job. Could champions just bring in any spectators they wanted? He’d heard mention of their families coming to the final task, but the Weasleys weren’t his family, unless they were filling in for the Muggles. It was almost a shame; he’d been morbidly curious about meeting them.

Then again, he thought as Charlie jogged across the grounds toward him, this wasn’t so bad either. 

“Antares!” he said, and the entire class looked up. He winced. “Sorry,” he added in a still loud whisper.

“Charlie?” Ginny hissed from her place on the grass. He wiggled his fingers at her.

“Hey, Gin,” he whispered. 

“What are you --” she started, but glanced at Regulus and stopped, resuming her test.

Charlie turned back to Regulus. “Sorry,” he said again, grinning sheepishly. “I just wanted to come say hi before the task tonight. We’re here with Harry,” he said, gesturing toward the group. They stood a little ways away, chatting amongst themselves.

“It’s good to see you,” Regulus replied, smiling. “I assume that’s your family?”

“Mum and Bill, yeah,” he said. “I’ll introduce you later,” he added. “You’d like Bill a lot.”

“I look forward to meeting them. Sharpe, eyes on your paper,” he snapped, suddenly aware of just how many students were not-so-subtly eavesdropping on their conversation.

Charlie looked around at the students again, then glanced at his family. “Shit, I should -- I mean,” he said, his hands coming up to cover his mouth, “ _ shoot _ , I should run. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll see you at the task,” he promised, and Charlie shot him a grin as he jogged away.

At the feast that evening, Charlie caught his eye and waved from where he sat at the Gryffindor table, and Regulus felt butterflies crawl through his stomach. It was beginning to occur to him that he may have dug himself into a very deep hole. 

Charlie caught up to him after dinner, as the crowds made their way toward the Quidditch field. Rather than taking his usual place with the staff, Regulus found himself sitting at the edge of the mass of students, with Granger and the Weasleys. 

“Antares, this is Mum and Bill. Mum and Bill, this is Antares, he’s the new Care of Magical Creatures professor.”

“Good to meet you, dear. I’m Molly,” said Charlie’s mother.

“Bill,” said Bill, smiling. Unlike the rest of the Weasley boys, he had long hair, dropping down to just past his shoulders. Regulus was immediately envious; he missed the longer hair of his real body.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Regulus said, shaking their hands.

Ron caught his eye from where he was sitting below them and gave him a look of utter confusion. Ginny nudged him. “You know Charlie can’t resist befriending other magizoologists,” he heard her mutter. 

A moment later, the twins appeared, looking at Regulus with raised eyebrows.

“Evening, Professor,” one of them said. George, probably -- since they’d left his class, he’d gotten worse at telling them apart. 

“What brings you all the way out to our side of the stands?” asked probably-Fred.

“Your brother and I met at the first task,” he said, hoping that that was a reasonable explanation. He wanted to say they were friends, but were they? Friendly acquaintances, at the very least -- but Charlie had sought him out all three times, hadn’t he? That, and he might have asked Regulus out, unless of course he was misreading the situation --

“I needed someone else to talk to besides you lot,” Charlie teased. “Sorry, Mum,” he added meekly, as his mother shot him a look. 

The twins sat down as Bagman began his announcements. He joined the family in waving at Potter, and the whistle blew. The task had started.

They squinted down into the maze. Though they could see the rough shape of the paths, seeing the details of the obstacles within was impossible. In fact, once Potter and Diggory had entered, they vanished from sight. 

“Well,” Charlie said, leaning back. “This is shaping up to be boring.”

“It can hardly be more uneventful than last time,” Regulus replied.

Krum entered the maze next; a few minutes later, Fleur was let in. As she entered, the crowd around seemed to relax a bit, realizing that they weren’t going to have all that much to see. The twins started eagerly attempting to convince Ron to try what seemed to be candy, and Molly leaned down to scold him; Bill watched with amused eyes. Charlie smiled softly down at them before turning toward Regulus.

“How’s Iulia?” Regulus asked, his voice quiet against the crowds. Immediately, he regretted asking; last time, when Charlie had mentioned that one of the dragons he’d cared for was ill, he’d looked so uncharacteristically sad that Regulus hadn't known what to do. At this mention of her, however, he smiled.

“She recovered well,” he said. “Her chicks, too. They’re both breathing fire now -- one of them has even started to fly. Kept knocking into his sister in the process, but it can’t be helped. So,” he added, leaning back, “about that drink I offered you?”

Regulus waited, sure Charlie was going to follow that up with  _ I can’t  _ or  _ I changed my mind _ , but instead he just sat there, looking expectantly at Regulus. Instinctively, he took stock of surroundings. Bill, he could see, was very carefully not watching them -- he was definitely listening, though, his eyes not tracking the scene in front of him. The rest of the crowd seemed suitably distracted.

“Oh, um, sure. I’d love to,” he replied, and waited to see if there was anything else -- Charlie turning to Bill and offering the same, or telling him to invite Hagrid. There was nothing; it would just be the two of them. 

_ You are lying about your identity _ , he reminded himself.  _ Stop this while you can _ .

“Great,” said Charlie, smiling lopsidedly. 

Regulus glanced away, fighting down the urge to blush, and what was even  _ happening _ to him, honestly? “Not to be cliche, but would the Three Broomsticks..?”

“Oh! Yes, that would work,” Charlie said.

A scream suddenly filled the air, and Regulus felt himself jump. The entire stadium became suddenly silent, staring at the maze, but there was no sign of red sparks. After a few minutes of nothing, the tension slowly leaked out of the crowd, and a low murmur rose as they started turning toward each other and whispering.

“That was Fleur, right?” Charlie asked.

“Sounded like it,” said Bill, frowning. “I hope she’s alright. What’s even in the maze, anyway?”

“Among other things, ashwinders, giant spiders, and a sphinx,” Regulus replied.

“Giant spiders?” asked Ron loudly, turning around. “Like,” he lowered his voice, “the talking kind?”

Regulus frowned. “No, it would be far too difficult to acquire an acromantula, much less bring it to Hogwarts.”

Ron mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously close to “not as hard as you’d think.” Regulus shot him a puzzled look, but continued.

“I don’t know of any of the other obstacles,” he explained. “I was only consulted about the magical creatures.”

“I mean, those are both scary enough to warrant a scream without actually being too dangerous,” Charlie reasoned. “No red sparks means she’s probably fine.”

“Yeah,” Bill agreed.

The group struck up conversation again, but it was noticeably less spirited. Regulus couldn’t help glancing down at the maze in worry; occasionally he would see bursts of light, but nothing else. It was only ten minutes before the screaming started again, a male voice this time. Regulus dug his nails into his leg, his entire body tense.

“Who--?” Bill started.

“Cedric,” the twins said in unison, looking grim. Unlike Delacour’s scream, Diggory’s was continuous. Reglus could see the crowd shifting uncomfortably, nearly everyone looking clearly upset. After about a minute, they abruptly cut off, and were quickly followed by the appearance of red sparks in the air. Regulus watched with bated breath as McGonagall entered the maze. She emerged a few minutes later, the body of Krum floating behind her.

“You reckon Krum attacked him?” Ron said, voicing what Regulus was sure they had all been thinking.

“Of course not,” said Granger hotly. “He probably just found Krum’s body after he escaped whatever he was fighting,” she added, sounding less confident.

The rest of the stadium seemed to be taking it differently -- they were whispering excitedly about what could have happened inside the maze. Slowly, the Weasleys began to relax again as well, with the exception of Molly, whose face was twisted with worry. Regulus only half listened in on their conversation, distracted. There was something about Diggory’s screams, something too familiar. It was the way they had continued, unceasing -- not fear, but pure agony. He’d heard screams like that before, at the hands of his fellow Death Eaters. But Krum wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- in a place like this, just to win a game? He searched for Igor. He was standing beside Krum’s body, looking thunderously angry. 

And yet -- Diggory was okay, or as okay as he would be. Krum was out of the maze. Potter was prepared. Regulus forced himself to relax, turning back and chatting softly with Charlie and Bill. For thirty minutes, everything was okay again.

A feeling started in his arm -- the familiar bubbling, burning sensation of Polyjuice wearing off. He started, reaching for his flask -- it shouldn’t have been wearing off this early -- but the sensation remained localized in his arm. The bubbling faded, but his arm still burned. Part of his arm; he could feel the shape of the pain, familiar. A skull, a snake.

The Dark Mark was burning. The Dark Lord had returned. 


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things end, somethings begin, and there are far fewer answers than anyone hoped for.

Regulus could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

He was back. He was  _ back _ . The mark had been getting clearer, yes; Regulus had known that he probably had more horcruxes, and would probably return; and the Death Eaters had made their continued existence well known. But despite all of that, the thought of him returning had seemed -- impossible. Inevitable in theory, but in reality he had just been able to ignore that, pretend that he could just settle into Hogwarts and live a normal life. Some sort of normal, anyway.

That was over now.

“You okay?” Charlie asked quietly, looking at him with worried eyes.

He forced a strained smile onto his face. “I’m fine, I just -- I just remembered I need to do something, I’ll be right back,” he said, rising.

His eyes quickly found Dumbledore, who was watching over the maze with a worried look on his face. Severus was nearby, speaking with him, but as Regulus started to make his way toward them he saw him turn and leave Dumbledore’s side. He moved through the bleachers slowly, trying not to make it obvious how desperate he was to reach Dumbledore. Had Severus told him? Why wasn’t he  _ doing _ anything?

Eventually, he managed to pick his way through the teachers to Dumbledore’s side. Wordlessly, he cast a quick charm, muffling their conversation from the surrounding staff and judges. 

“Severus has already informed me,” Dumbledore said quietly before Regulus spoke. There was a carefully neutral expression on his face, but if Regulus looked closely he could see the tension held in his stance. “It is not entirely unexpected,” he continued. “Most of the Wizarding World is focused on the Triwizard Tournament. I myself am occupied, if I may presume importance. There is no one to stop his return, nor to notice it.”

“You’re not going to do anything?” Regulus asked.

Dumbledore shook his head minutely. “My first priority is the safety of my students. I will not risk them by attempting to chase Voldemort down.”

“And Severus?”

“I merely sent him to check on Karkaroff,” he said, his voice slightly colder than before. “His position, I believe, is of no consequence to you.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Regulus softly. “Not now, but later.”

“If Voldemort has truly returned, then I believe it is time for the Order of the Phoenix to rise again. I hope I am not being too presumptuous in assuming you will join?”

The Order of the Phoenix… never in a thousand years would Regulus have imagined that he’d be working against the Dark Lord in Dumbledore’s strange army. But, well -- things had changed. “I’ll join,” he said.

Dumbledore smiled softly. “In that case, I believe you should head back to your friends. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion.”

Right; he was right. Regulus nodded, heading back through the stands. The Dark Lord had risen, but apparently he’d been expecting it. Hogwarts was safe. If there was anyone who could protect them, it was Dumbledore. Besides, the Dark Lord would think he was dead, just like everyone else. 

He settled back into his seat, made his excuses, and tried to tune into the conversations around him. Nothing felt real; everything was distant, removed. All he could think about was the phantom pull in his arm, urging him to leave. Lucius would be there, undoubtedly. Igor was nowhere in sight -- but he’d been afraid. Had he fled to them, or away from them? Pettigrew was a coward, but Regulus still believed that he had been the one to put Potter’s name in the goblet, which did imply he was still trying to work for the Dark Lord. And the ones who remained… not even half their original number, but so many still. And no one else of consequence, save those who were dead or in Azkaban.

They’d be planning a breakout, surely. The Dark Lord couldn’t afford to leave so many of his Death Eaters locked up, and in times past the dementors had been one of his greatest assets. And then what? Careful planning, or random attacks? The first was more wise, but the second would be more appealing to many of them. 

There would be the Order. Hadn’t most of them died in the war, though? Admittedly, he didn’t know the details of their organization -- perhaps only the ones he’d known about had died. The new Order would be primarily strangers, then, along with Remus and Sirius. Maybe that was a good thing. On the other hand, he --

The crowd erupted into cheers, swarming forward as one mass. Regulus’s attention snapped forward, barely able to make out a figure -- two figures? -- on the ground, the Triwizard Cup shining through the night. People were rushing toward them, blocking Regulus’s vision. He found himself pushing forward beside the Weasleys, barely aware of what his body was doing.

The cheering died down a bit, murmurs of confusion replacing it, and --

“He’s dead!” Regulus heard, repeated, and he felt an icy wave of shock run through him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Molly raise her hands to her mouth; Ron had gone completely pale. “Cedric Diggory! Dead!”

Relief coursed through him, immediately followed by guilt. And confusion -- what had happened? What in Merlin’s name could have gone so wrong?

By the time they had pushed to the center of the ring of people, Potter was being led away by Moody.  _ Good _ , Regulus thought. At least he would be safe. Dumbledore was arguing with the Minister, and Regulus could see, half obscured by people, Cedric’s limp form. He turned away, nausea curling in his gut. 

“What happened? What’s happening?” Granger asked him urgently. 

Oh Merlin, when did he become responsible for these children? “I don’t know,” he answered, but that wasn’t true, was it, because the timing couldn’t be a coincidence --

“What -- where’s Harry?”

Regulus took a moment, forcing himself to focus. There was too much -- too much noise, too much confusion, he needed -- what was he trying to do? The children; they needed to be removed from the situation. They needed to find Potter. He would’ve been taken to the Hospital Wing, probably, or perhaps the Headmaster’s office -- regardless, he would end up in the Hospital Wing.

“Come on,” he said, shepherding them through the crowds. He was faintly aware of the adult Weasleys at their side. Once they were out of the arena, it felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest, the noise and heat immediately dying down. He could see a few figures making their way toward the castle -- Dumbledore, Severus, and McGonagall, from their silhouettes. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Molly demanded of him, more sharply than he would have expected of her. 

“The Hospital Wing,” he responded. “I’m not sure where Mr. Potter is being taken immediately, but he will end up there. It’s probably a good idea for him to have his friends and -- family with him.” Besides, he was pretty sure seeing Potter alive would make everyone there feel a lot better.

“Is --” Ron started. “Is Cedric really..?”

Regulus pressed his nails into the pad of his thumb, trying not to think about Cedric’s twisted, limp body. “Yes, Mr. Weasley,” he said quietly. 

“But they  _ promised _ ,” Granger said. “They promised that it wouldn’t be deadly this year, that no one was going to get hurt, they,” her voice wavered, “they said that it was  _ safe _ .”

How? How had it happened? The Dark Lord had returned, Diggory was dead -- they had to be connected, but it didn’t make sense. 

Regulus led the way into the Hospital Wing, immediately looking around. There was no one -- not even Madam Pomfrey.

“He’s not here,” said Molly, looking terrifyingly focused. “Where is he?”

“He will be here,” Regulus said confidently. “We just have to wait.” He made his way to one of the beds, sitting. It was unfortunate that Madam Pomfrey kept her office locked, he noted. The panic was threatening to well up again, boiling just beyond the edge of his mind. He could go for a Calming Drought. 

He pushed it away. Later; he could think about it later, but for now he had things to do. Hermione and Charlie had both sunk down onto the beds, but the other three remained standing. Molly had her arms crossed and was staring at him impatiently, as though she could conjure Potter by doing so. Ron was also staring at him, with a look of intense concentration.

“What happened?” he demanded. “You have to know more than you’re telling us.”

“I’m sorry,” Regulus replied, all emotion void from his voice. “I don’t.”

If they had been alone, maybe,  _ maybe _ he would have told them, Ron and Granger -- but with all of the others here, he couldn’t.

There was silence -- a long, aching silence. Molly busied herself by straightening her children’s clothes, brushing nonexistent dust out of their hair, pressing kisses to the tops of their heads. Her movements were distracted; worry was etched into her expression. But it was still so painfully affectionate that Regulus wanted to look away.

The doors opened, and everyone rose at once. Madam Pomfrey entered, looking surprised to see them. Floating behind her was the unconscious body of Alastor Moody. Regulus felt dread pooling in his stomach. If he was supposed to be protecting Potter -- and now he was here --

“What --?” he began, as several others started speaking.

“Please!” said Madam Pomfrey. “Sit down and allow me to do my job.”

They watched as she floated his body to one of the empty beds and began administering various potions to him. After a few minutes, she stood back and turned to face them.

“Now, why are you here?”

“Potter was with him, wasn’t he?” asked Regulus immediately. “Is he okay, what happened?”

“I will admit I was not given the details,” said Pomfrey. “It appears that someone else has been impersonating Professor Moody for the entire year.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. 

“What?” asked Ron and Granger, as Regulus and Molly asked, “Who?”

Pomfrey cast a worried look at them. “I’m afraid it was Barty Crouch. Junior,” she added.

“What?” Regulus asked, his voice cracking.

“He’s dead,” Ron argued. 

Pomfrey shook her head, looking unbelievably tired. “I saw him.”

“And Harry was with him? Did he hurt him? Where is he?” Molly demanded.

“I don’t know, I --”

The doors swung open again, this time revealing Dumbledore, Potter, and Siri, as a dog. Charlie looked at the dog and then at Regulus, questioningly, but he glanced away.

“Harry! Oh, Harry!” Molly said, rushing toward him, but Dumbledore stopped her. 

"Molly," he said, "please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."

Molly nodded, turning. "Did you hear? He needs quiet!" she said, staring at her children. 

"Headmaster," said Madam Pomfrey, "may I ask what - ?"

"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," he replied. "I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry - I will wait while you get into bed."

“Dumbledore,” Regulus began, as Potter prepared himself to sleep.

He held up a hand. “Later,” he said quietly, then turned back toward Potter. “I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school." He hovered at the edge of the room, watching as Pomfrey led Potter into bed. The Weasleys and Granger gathered around him, and Sirius leapt onto the bed, curling up at his feet. Regulus hung back, watching from a distance.

“I’m alright,” he heard Potter say. “Just tired.”

The group parted to let Madam Pomfrey through, bearing a potion for dreamless sleep. After a few moments, Potter drifted off.

Regulus turned toward Dumbledore. “Headmaster,” he said.

“It appears that Barty Crouch Junior is not nearly as dead as the world assumed,” he said. “He has, in fact, been impersonating Alastor for the past several months. It was he who put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire, and transformed the Triwizard Cup into a portkey, on Voldemort’s orders. This brought Cedric and Harry to a graveyard, where Voldemort took Cedric’s life and performed a ritual return himself to a new body.”

Molly gasped, her hands rising to her mouth. Ron and Charlie’s eyes were as wide a saucers.

“He’s -- you can’t be saying that You-Know-Who is back,” said Bill.

“Unfortunately, I am,” Dumbledore replied gravely. “Now,” he said. “Any further discussion on the matter will have to wait. I have business to attend to. I will return shortly.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. 

A tense silence remained in his stead. The adult Weasleys kept glancing at each other, clearly wanting to talk but uncomfortable with the presence of Madam Pomfrey or Regulus. Granger and Ron, on the other hand, kept looking to Regulus expectantly. After a moment, Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office, leaving them alone.

“So,” Ron said, finally breaking the silence, “d’you think Dumbledore’s gonna bring back the Or--”

“Shh!” snapped Molly, casting a meaningful glance toward Regulus.

“Mum, it’s fine, he’s --”

“Enough, Ronald!” she said, and he fell silent. 

If he recalled correctly, Molly’s brothers had been suspected to be part of Dumbledore’s strange circle of vigilantes; between that and Ron’s connection to Potter, it wasn’t a stretch to assume they’d be involved in the new Order. Part of him wanted to confirm Ron’s theory, tell them it was being refounded, but that would lead to questions he didn’t really want to answer. So he remained silent, walking toward the bed on which Potter lay. Molly watched him warily as he approached, but he ignored her; he wasn’t there for the boy, anyway. He reached out a hand toward Sirius, pausing before he touched him. Sirius let out a huff of breath, pushing his nose against Regulus’s hand. Wordlessly, Regulus pet him. He felt like there were a thousand words bubbling up inside of him, desperate to come out, but with all the people around him, he couldn’t speak. Instead he lowered himself to the ground as gracefully as he could, feeling somewhat ridiculous surrounded by people in chairs, and continued running his hands through Sirius’s fur. He found himself composing letters in his head, hoping that Sirius could understand.

_ If I had known Potter was there when the mark burned _ , he thought, then stopped. He wasn’t sure if what he was going to say was even true, but he wished that it was. He settled for  _ I’m sorry _ .

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when the shouting started. The minutes were hard to count when the only measure was the shifting of robes as someone adjusted their position. It started off faintly, then began to grow louder. Molly rose, trying to figure out who it was, a slight frown on her face; after a moment, Regulus joined her.

“They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up,” Bill whispered, nodding his head toward Potter.

“What are they shouting about? Nothing else could have happened, could it?” Molly asked, her frown deepening. “That’s Fudge’s voice. And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?”

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Not to mention the fact that Regulus really, really didn’t want to see the Minister of Magic right now. The shouting grew louder, and the doors burst open. The Minister of Magic strode forth, McGonagall and Severus tailing him. Everyone involved looked furious. Severus nearly looked frightened.

“Where is Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded, looking at Regulus.

“He left some time ago,” replied Regulus levelly. “I would look for him in his office if I were you, I believe you’re disturbing the patients --”

The doors opened again, and Dumbledore opened. Regulus was suddenly reminded of the shouting match that took place last year in the Hospital Wing.  _ Not again _ , he thought. Potter and Moody were both sleeping.

“What has happened? Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you -- I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch --"

“There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" she shrieked, trembling. "The Minister has seen to that!"

Severus stepped forward. "When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events, he insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch --" 

"I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!" McGonagall interrupted. "I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but --"

“My dear woman! As Minister of Magic --”

“Would you all  _ please _ take this somewhere else?” Regulus asked sharply. Fudge turned, looking shocked to have been interrupted. “The patients are sleeping, and there is no reason to be bothering them with your hysterics.”

“ _ Hysterics _ ?” Fudge spluttered.

“He is right, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore. “This conversation should be had in my office.”

“Now, Dumbledore,” Fudge began, but the headmaster had already left the room. Fudge huffed, making his way toward Potter’s bed. He pulled a pouch from his coat and set it at the foot of the bed, looking startled by Sirius’s presence. 

“His prize money,” he said, before turning and leaving. 

Molly caught Regulus’s eye. “Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“I kind of wanted to know what they were yelling about,” Potter mumbled, startling the entire group.

“Harry, you’re awake,” said Molly, hurrying toward his side. 

“Yeah,” he said. “What did Dumbledore tell you?”

Molly and Bill shared a look. “He told us about You-Know-Who’s return,” she said softly. “And about Alastor.”

Potter nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Sirius unwound himself, padding toward the head of the bed. Potter smiled faintly and patted him on the head. 

“Oh, Fudge brought your winnings, dear,” Molly said. 

“I don’t want it,” he said immediately. “You take it. It should’ve been Cedric’s,” he said, his voice wavering.

“Harry,” Molly whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I told him to take the cup with me.”

Molly leaned down, enveloping Potter in a hug; Sirius had to duck out of the way to not get caught in it. Regulus could see Potter shaking in her arms, and he quickly looked away, feeling as though he were intruding. After a few moments, she pulled away.

“You should take more of your potion, dear,” she said. He did, falling quickly into another sleep. Molly sniffed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Dumbledore returned a few minutes later, Severus at his heels. Both looked cold and furious. 

“Barty Crouch Junior is dead. It appears the Minister of Magic is denying Harry’s testimony,” said Dumbledore. “He insists that Voldemort has not returned. I assume that none of you share his sentiments?”

“Of course not,” Molly said immediately. 

“Can I count on the support of you and Arthur?” She nodded. “Then I need to send a message to him. All those at the Ministry whom we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately.”

“I’ll go to him,” said Bill, rising.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry..."

Bill nodded. He patted Charlie on the back, kissed Molly on the cheek, and left. 

"Minerva," said Dumbledore, turning to Professor McGonagall, "I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also -- if she will consent to come -- Madame Maxime." She quickly left the room, casting one last glance around before she did so.

“And now --” he began, but paused, frowning. He made his way over to Madam Pomfrey’s office and knocked on the door, pushing his head inside. Regulus could hear him saying a few words before he stepped back as Madam Pomfrey swept past him and left the Hospital Wing, looking rather confused. He turned back to the rest of them, clearing his throat. “Sirius, if you would resume your usual form?”

Sirius leapt from the bed, transforming mid-jump. He stumbled a bit as he hit the ground, but stayed on his feet.

“Sirius Back!” Molly shrieked, both her and Charlie leaping up. Charlie’s head whipped toward Regulus, and he belatedly realized he should have been feigning surprise.

“Mum, shut up, it’s okay!” Ron said.

“Him!” spat Severus, whose gaze was already locked with Sirius’s, glaring. “What is he doing here?”

"He is here at my invitation, as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other. I will settle, in the short term," he added, "for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us.”

They stared at each other, neither of them seeming to want to make the first step forward. Eventually, Sirius straightened his back, stepped forward, and extended a hand. Severus reached for it as though it were something extremely distasteful, and after a second or two they both dropped their hands and backed away. Regulus let out a tiny cough, trying to mask the laugh threatening to form. Both of them immediately turned to him, still glaring.

“Shut it,” Sirius hissed. Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore stepped forward, cutting him off.

“I have work for the both of you,” he said loudly. “Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there.”

Sirius nodded sharply. He turned toward the students, offering them a strained smile, and then toward Regulus. “See you soon,” he said quietly, and transformed back into a dog, bounding away. Regulus kept his gaze forward, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Charlie and Severus staring at him with contemplative looks on their faces. 

“Severus,” Dumbledore continued, “you know what I must ask of you. If you are ready… if you are prepared…”

“I am,” he replied, stiffening.

“Then good luck,” Dumbledore said. Wordlessly, Severus swept out of the room.

“He’s spying for you, isn’t he?” asked Regulus softly. Dumbledore nodded. 

“I have a task for you as well,” he said. “I need you to begin making the necessary preparations for the Fidelius Charm.”

The Fidelius Charm -- it wasn’t widely used, and he didn’t know the details, but he was sure he could find them. “I will,” he promised.

He cast one last look around the room before he left. There was Dumbedore, standing tall by the doorway; Molly hovering beside Potter’s bedside; Granger at the window; Ron next to Potter; Charlie looking at him like he was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. He caught Regulus’s eye, frowning slightly, and tilted his head questioningly. Regulus looked away. Explanations could come later.

And there was Potter, sleeping deeply despite everything. Regulus felt his heart twisting inside of him. He was so young, younger even than Regulus when he had been Marked. Whatever he had seen tonight, he shouldn’t have had to see it. 

Voldemort  _ would _ become mortal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all... Charlie did not sign up for this.
> 
> As always, thank you so so much for reading and for your lovely comments!

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back, y'all! This chapter was a lot more summarize-y than I remembered it, but oh well. See y'all next week.


End file.
